IIIMOIRS OF THE
iAIP^ED DEAD
m THE WAR AGAINST GERMANY
v^^
"t
MEMOIRS
OF THE HARVARD DEAD
IN THE WAR
AGAINST GERMANY
III
MEMOIRS
OF THE HARVARD DEAD
IN THE WAR
AGAINST GERMANY
By M. a. DeWOLFE HOWE
VOLUME III
CAMBRIDGE
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXXII
COPYRIGHT, 1922
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
CAMBRIDGE, MAbS., U. S. A.
PREFACE
As in the two preceding volumes of this series, the
memoirs are placed in the chronological sequence of the
deaths of those who form their subjects. The second
volume dealt with the Harvard participants in the war
against Germany, fifty-one in number, who died within a
year of the entrance of the United States into that war. In
this volume another arbitrary period is fixed, and the
seventy-five Harvard men who died between April 7 and
August 4, 1918 — a memorable war anniversary — are
commemorated.
This volume bears a further resemblance to its predeces-
sors in that the memoirs vary considerably in length and
fullness ; and again this is due solely to the wide variation
in the extent and character of the material which, with an
equal expenditure of effort in all instances, I have been
able to secure.
As the third volume comes to completion, and brings the
total number of finished memoirs to one hundred and
fifty-six I am confronted with the fact that nearly two
hundred and twenty more remain to be written. I had
hoped to carry the task single-handed to the end, for there
is no work of commemoration in which one could engage
with greater satisfaction. But in fairness both to Harvard
and to its sons, the dead and the living, the work should be
continued with more rapidity than a single biographer,
with other demands upon his time, can possibly hope to
achieve. Accordingly the authorities have sanctioned an
PREFACE
arrangement under which I am to be responsible for the
two remaining volumes, as general editor, reserving for
myself the writing of certain memoirs and distributing
among several collaborators of special competence for the
undertaking the preparation of others.
As Volumes I, II, and III have appeared, respectively,
in 1920, 1921, and 1922, it is hoped that Volumes IV and V
will appear, under this arrangement, in 1923 and 1924.
M. A. DeW. H.
Boston, October, 1922.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Victor Raleigh Craigie Graduate School of Business
Administration 1913-14 3
Arthur Harold Webber Class of w 15 7
Franklin Temple Ingraham Class of 1914 12
GusTAv Hermann Kissel Class of 1917 16
Ernest Edward Weibel Ph.D. 1916 20
Arthur Broadfield Warren Class of 19 15 24
William Wallace Thayer Class of 19 16 33
Arthur Russell Gaylord Law 1915-17 36
Frederick Arthur Keep Class of 1915 38
William Key Bond Emerson, Jr. Class of 1916 42
Roger Sherman Dix, Jr. Class of 1918 47
James Palache Class of 1918 51
William Noel Hewitt Class of 1914. 55
William Dennison Lyon Class of 1916 60
Paul Borda Kurtz Class of 1916 67
Richard Mortimer, Jr. Class of I9ll 76
Kenneth Pickens Culbert Class of 1917 82
William St. Agnan Stearns Class of 1917 99
Henry Ware Clarke Class of 1916 105
George Guest Haydock Class of 1916 114
George Buchanan Redwood Class of 1910 144
Henry Corliss Shaw Class of 1901 167
Livingston Low Baker Class of 1913 HI
Ona Jefferson Myers Law 1912-13 170
Philip Washburn Davis Class of 190S 1H4
Guy Norman Class of 1890 ~<^^
CONTENTS
Roland Jackson Class of 1916 212
Gordon Kaemmerling Class of 1912 216
John D wight Filley, Jr. Class of 1916 225
EvERiT Albert Herter Class of 19U 229
Ralph Henry Lasser Class of 1920 248
Edward Ball Cole Class of 1902 271
Alvah Crocker, Jr. Class of 1905 281
Elliot Adams Chapin Class of 1918 293
Goodwin Warner Class of 1909 297
Frederic Percival Clement, Jr. Class of 1916 301
Donald Fairfax Ray LL.B. wis 310
Maxwell Oswald Parry Gradvate School 1911-12 314
Dudley GiLMAN Tucker Class of 1907 318
William Vernon Booth, Jr. Class of 1913 334
Claudius Ralph Farnsworth Class' of 1917 344
QuENTiN Roosevelt Class of 1919 348
George Waite Goodwin Law 1916-17 374
Homer Atherton Hunt Class of 1916 380
George Francis McGillen Class of 1917 383
Edmond David Stewart, Jr. Lato 1915-17 387
Walton Kimball Smith Laiv 1914-15 390
Hugh Charles Blanchard Class of 1909 394
John Andrew Doherty Class of 1916 399
Kenneth Eliot Fuller Class of 1916 402
Proctor Calvin Gilson Laiv 1915-17 414
Orville Parker Johnson Class of 1918 416
Robert MoRss Lovett, Jr. Class of 1918 421
Lester Clement Barton Laiv 1908-10 433
Carleton Burr Class of 1913 444
Philip Cunningham Class of 1918 471
Clifford Barker Grayson Law 1916-17 478
CONTENTS
Charles Castner Lilly Class of 1909 480
Allen Melancthon Sumner Class of 190^ 486
David Morse Barry Class of 1915 490
Howard Walter Beal M.D. 1898 504
Donald Earl Dunbar Class of wis 507
George William Ryley Class of 19 lo 513
George Alexander McKiNLocK, Jr. Class of 191G 519
Ralph Guye White Law 1913-16 545
John Shaw Pfaffman Class of 191G 556
Malcolm Cotton Brown Class of 1918 562
Clark Richardson Lincoln Medical 1899-1901 569
Philip Overton Mills Class of 1905 574
James Augustin McKenna, Jr. Class of 1909 580
Oliver Ames, Jr. Class of 1917 601
Alan Campbell Clark Class of 1917 630
Jason Solon Hunt Law 1915-17 634
Richard Norton Class of 1892 640
John Vincent Kelly Class of 1906 673
MEMOIRS
Leaves that made last year beautiful, still strevm
Even as they fell, unchanged, beneath the changing moon.
Alan Seeger
VICTOR RALEIGH CRAIGIE
Graduate School of Business Administration
1913-14
V ICTOR Raleigh Craigie was born in Canada, May
22, 1892, the son of Captain Horace Walpole Craigie of
the British Army and Ehzabeth Craigie, both deceased.
When he was not quite three years of age he was adopted
by Mr. and Mrs. James Brown, of Boston. He received
his education in England, at the Mount Hermon Prepara-
tory School in western Massachusetts, at tlie Boston
Y. M. C. A., and, for the academic year of 1913-14, at
the Harvard Graduate School of Business Administration,
in which he was enrolled as a special student.
He had entered business with the Berkshire Life In-
surance Company when the war broke out in Europe, and
8
VICTOR RALEIGH CRAIGIE
abandoned his desire to enlist in the Canadian Army only
in compliance with the wishes of his adoptive mother.
WTien the United States joined in the war he was a mem-
ber of Troop A, First Squadron of Cavalry, Massachusetts
Volunteer Militia, trained for a year in the M. V. M.
Training School, and sought admission to the first Platts-
burg camp. For this he was found ineligible because he
had not secured his final papers of American citizenship.
In June, 1917, he enlisted in the Royal Flying Corps in
Canada. His instruction in aviation followed at Toronto
University, Camp Mohawk, Deseronto, Camp Borden,
and later at Taliaferro Field, Fort Worth, Texas. Here
he became the best machine gun shot in his division. Late
in November, 1917, he was commissioned second lieu-
tenant in Toronto, and on December 13 sailed for England.
A few extracts from his letters reveal his satisfaction in
his work and the spirit in which it was done. From Deser-
onto he wrote, early in his training:
Well, dear mother, I have flo\\Ti two hours and fifty minutes
today, with ten landings. Quite a big day's work and a very
tiring one. I have now concluded my elementary flying of five
hours' solo and fifteen landings, without a break or repair to
my machine — a good record. My commanding officer and
instructors have expressed themselves proud of the results of
their work.
Cajmp Borden,
October 11.
Took a cross-coimtry run to Toronto today, but returning
got lost in the clouds. On reaching the aerodrome, long after
dark, was greeted by the O. C. vnth. "where the have you
been? I shall put you under arrest for taking the machine off
all day." "Sir, I was lost, but have brought the aeroplane back
4
VICTOR RALEIGH CRAIGIE
safe and sound, besides making seven landings outside of the
aerodrome." "Craigie, you have done well, nine of the
ten would have crashed five out of six times, if they had landed
in open country as often as you have today, besides you have
made one of the best landings ever pulled off in this aerodrome
after dark. This will go dowTi in the reports to be sent to Eng-
land." This ends forty hours and thirty minutes without a
crash.
November 17.
A few days ago the lieutenant with whom I did my first
aerial gunnery, called me aside and placing both hands upon
my shoulders and looking me straight in the face he said:
"Craigie, I never realized what a good pilot you were until I
had had several pilots up."
November 23.
At last our course is over. Brace yourself, dear mother, for
the time for going overseas is near. I am only one of thousands
that are on their way. We are no use here, let us keep the
loathsome reptiles over there. I realize it will be hard for us
both, but just think of the cause. I thank God that I have
been accepted to take part in this damnable slaughter for
future generations and the race.
Jannary 18.
Dearest mother, certainly I forgive you for not allowing me
to go sooner. I felt in my heart that it was my duty, and it
has grieved me much that I was not one of the first to put on
the harness in this great war for freedom and right. However,
may God spare me to reach the German lines. They are quite
near and yet so, so far. I know well that you miss me, but you
also must be a soldier, good and true. The world needs the
brave women to help in this struggle.
March 5.
I am happy in my work and the mission I have to fulfill,
although I am having terrible luck just now. The scouts are
much harder to fly than any other machine, therefore I must
VICTOR RALEIGH CRAIGIE
expect some difficulty. I believe, however, that I am well
placed in the scouts. I enjoy aerial fighting, and stunts are
second nature to me now.
March 11.
Well, Nate, old boy, every pilot has to have his first crash.
That goes without saying, and is as true as Newton's law of
gravity. God only knows when or where the second is likely
to take place, but I have no fear of it.
His training in England took place at Stockbridge and
at Langmere, near Chichester. There on April 7, 1918,
he met his death through a collision of his machine, a
one-man scout, with another machine bearing two lieu-
tenants. All three were killed. Craigie was buried with
full military honors at Chichester.
About a week before his death he had written home,
March 30: "I am likely to be fighting the Huns before
this letter reaches you, in fact I expect the call daily.
They need all the pilots in this big battle now raging.
I am real keen to get into the scrap and wonder what my
first impressions of it all will be."
And to this he added: "May God bless and keep you
safe, dear mother, and at the same time give you no fears
for me."
6
ARTHUR HAROLD WEBBER
Class of 1915
iV-RTHUR Harold Webber, son of the late Arthur
Harrison Webber and Lucie Moore (Morrison) Webber,
was born at Cadillac, Michigan, July 1, 1892. He was
prepared for college at the Cadillac High School and Wor-
cester Academy, Worcester, Massachusetts, and before
coming to Harvard spent two years at Olivet College,
Olivet, Michigan, where he acquitted himself well both in
his studies and in student affairs. In 1912 he entered
Harvard and three years later took his Bachelor of Arts
degree with the Class of 1915. He was a member of the
Theta Delta Chi fraternity, and in 1914 held the office of
treasurer in the Harvard chapter. A letter from Cam-
bridge to his mother, written in his junior year, is full of
7
ARTHUR HAROLD WEBBER
appreciation of what he was learning from Dean Briggs.
A portion of it may well be quoted, if only for the light
it throws upon Webber himself :
For all his erudition he is never a positivist. I believe that
I have learned something from that. When he deals with a
subject that he feels someone might have had more experience
with, he says what he believes, and then adds, "Now perhaps
I am wrong. If so, I should like to be corrected." When he
goes over your themes he takes the time to make witty, trench-
ant remarks on what you have said, as, for instance, when I
wrote, "Doctors were born to make the simple complex," he
wrote under this, "I thought philosophers had a monopoly on
this." To return to the particular morning I had my confer-
ence with him — I shall try to sum up some of his comments.
"Am I a black sheep?" I asked him, referring to my standing
in the class. "Not at all," he answered. "You do your work.
But you are not a clear, well-trained writer. At times, though,
you write a line that is masterly, and then suddenly you plunge
into writing that is evidently not the result of clear thinking.
Apparently you have never been forced to write carefully.
Your elemental work has been faulty. But your ideas are ex-
cellent, fully as good as anyone's in the class; seldom do you
express them properly. Many times you are ingenious. Your
play has been the most encouraging thing you have done yet.
It's not unusual, but shows signs of promise," "Do you think,"
I asked anxiously, "there is ever a chance for me to become,
not a genius or remarkable writer — I don't hope for that — but
a creditable one?" "Mr. Webber," he replied, "that's a hard
question to answer. We don't know who may turn out the
best. One can't tell, but you are by no means hopeless."
I am not able to tell you the way he expressed what he said,
and in these snatches of conversation there is n't anything that
should make one optimistic. I don't think he wanted me to be.
He said just enough to convince me that I had something to
build on, knowing that what I had done up to the present time
8
ARTHUR HAROLD WEBBER
was not indicative of remarkable power. But he did arouse in
me the fighting instinct and I went out of his oflSce with a light
heart.
In view of the interests which this letter reveals, it is not
surprising to find in the First Report of Webber's class,
published in May, 1916, that his address was given at the
publishing office of Moffat, Yard and Company, in New
York. In order to be nearer home he afterwards entered
the oflfice of H. W. Noble and Company, investment bank-
ers in Detroit, and was associated with it when the United
States entered the war. Within ten days of that time he
enlisted at Detroit for training as an officer in the armj^
and in May was sent to the First Officers' Training Camp
at Fort Sheridan, Illinois. A letter to his mother from
that place speaks of the spirit in w^hich he took up his
work as a soldier:
I did n't tell you, but when I came to the camp here I re-
solved that I would serve my country as I had never served
myself, that I would not do anything that would stand in the
way of my moral or physical well-being. I want you to know
that I shall live just as clean and fine as I know how and fulfil
your expectations of me. No nation bent on aggrandizement,
proceeding without scruple and without justice can hope to
whip a clean, noble-spirited United States, and I want my bit
to be just as fine a "bit" as I can contribute.
Before Webber had completed his course at Fort
Sheridan, there w^as a call for men in the aviation service.
To this he responded, and secured a transfer from the
OflScers' Training Camp, enabling him to enlist at Colum-
bus, Ohio, in the British Royal Air Force. After some
training at Toronto with the 43d Wing of this force, he
9
ARTHUR HAROLD WEBBER
was sent to Fort Worth, Texas, where he quahfied as a
pilot, received his commission as second Heutenant, and
was assigned to the 84th Aero Squadron, in the training
of which Vernon Castle of the Royal Flying Corps met
his death on February 25. Flying alone at Fort Worth on
April 10, 1918, Webber's machine suddenly got out of
control, and he was instantly killed in the resulting fall.
On the day before his death he had written his mother
a letter which reached her the day after she received the
telegram announcing his fatal accident. It contained the
following passages :
I have just concluded a day of very satisfactory flying. I
have put in fifty landings now, which is the completion of ele-
mentary solo work. My stunt consignment was forced land-
ings. It often happens in flying that your engine gives out and
you have to come down where you are. You have but a few
minutes to choose your landing ground and must do some quick
thinking and acting. I went up almost 2500 feet and shut off
the throttle, beginning a spiral dive towards the earth.
Friday we shall be out of here, like the circuses, in the early
morning with our tents packed up and our entire outfit on the
way to Toronto. I believe Fort Worth will miss us, for the
cadets and officers and mechanics have been most cordially
received here and have made a multitude of friends, as the
reporter would say.
After referring to recent losses among his comrades by
death, he wrote:
These happenings, however, are as nothing to the future with
dark war clouds hovering over us. There 's only one philosophy
to tide us over the fatalistic conclusion that God offers us the
inevitable, and we must accept it graciously, though it clutches
our hearts and robs us of that which we hold most dear.
10
ARTHUR HAROLD WEBBER
Webber's body was taken to Cadillac, Michigan, for
burial. In evidence of the esteem in which he was held
in his native place, fifty of the leading business men of
the city met the train on which the body arrived at two
o'clock in the morning, and accompanied it to his mother's
house. On the day of his funeral the mayor issued the
following proclamation :
As an expression of the sorrow that has come to our city and
in recognition of our loss in the death of Harold Webber, our
city's first soldier to give up his life in the war now in progress,
I would respectfully ask that all places of business be closed up
Tuesday afternoon from two to four o'clock, the hours of the
funeral. I hope this mark of sympathy for those who are be-
reaved and this expression of our care for our country and its
defenders will be generally observed.
11
FRANKLIN TEMPLE INGRAHAM
Class of 1914
x! RANKLiN Temple Ingraham, born May 23, 1891,
at Wellesley, Massachusetts, a son of Franklin Benton
Ingraham and Elizabeth Temple (Webb) Ingraham of
that town, a brother of Paul Webb Ingraham (Harvard,
'17), "was one of those rare men" — in the words of a
classmate — "who never made an enemy and whose
friends were among the hundreds." Quite as much as the
facts of his brief military record, the affection and respect
that he won in all his relations, at school, in college, in
business, in the army, should be chronicled in any account
of his life.
His preparation for college was made at the Wellesley
High School. Entering Harvard with the Class of 1914,
12
FRANKLIN TEMPLE INGRAHAM
he became a member of the University Mandohn, Dra-
matic, and Pi Eta Clubs. He greatly enjoyed his human
contacts, and was expert and enthusiastic in the pursuit
of many outdoor and indoor sports and games. While in
college he joined Battery A, Massachusetts Volunteer
Militia, though for social rather than military considera-
tions, as the war in Europe was not yet to be taken into
account by undergraduates. On his graduation from Har-
vard he went to the Massachusetts Institute of Tech-
nology, where, from 1914 to 1916, he was a student of
civil engineering.
It was at the end of this period that he had his first
experience of military life, when Massachusetts troops
were ordered to the Mexican border. His physique was
always slender, and in his family it became a question
whether this call to service in a subtropical climate was
so imperative that he ought to respond to it. "I think I
should go with the rest," he said, and adhered to this
decision, with a clear recognition of its possible cost. He
went and returned in good health — except for greatly
reduced weight, which he never recovered — having
greatly enjoyed his association with kindred spirits, and
content that he had done his part.
Ingraham then entered the employ of the Roebling
wire works at Trenton, New Jersey. Here he had won
both confidence and promotion when the United States
entered the war. The Roebling mills were making war
material, and he might well have regarded himself as
playing a useful part in this enterprise. On the contrary,
he determined to enter the army, though his weight, far
below the required minimum, rendered him ineligible.
13
FRANKLIN TEMPLE INGRAHAM
He successively sought to enter the Engineer Corps, the
Ordnance Department, expressly for service abroad, and
the Coast Artillery Corps, in which he passed an examina-
tion for a commission. Becoming impatient at the long
delay in receiving a report upon this application, and
heeding the appeal of aviation to his love of sports, he
enlisted in September, 1917, as a private, first class, in
the Aviation Section of the Signal Corps. Having passed
successfully through the ground school training at the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he was detailed
to Mineola, Long Island, whence he expected to be sent
immediately overseas with his section for final instruction
in aviation. Instead he received, on October 26, the de-
layed commission as provisional second lieutenant in the
Coast Artillery Corps, U. S. Army. By this time he had
gone so far in aviation that he would have preferred to
remain in that branch of service, but on the advice of his
commanding officer he accepted his commission and ap-
plied for transfer to the flying squadron. This was re-
fused, and reluctantly but cheerfully he went, December
1, to Fortress Monroe, Virginia, for a new routine of mili-
tary drill.
Here he made a new group of devoted and most con-
genial friends, and here he passed a trying winter in cold
barracks — an experience which probably had a direct
bearing upon his final illness. Near the end of his train-
ing course, he applied, with forty others, for aerial obser-
vation service in connection with the Coast Artillery, and
was one of fifteen who passed the examination, the last of
a series of hard physical tests in the army. On April 1,
1918, he obtained a ten days' leave of absence to visit his
14
FRANKLIN TEMPLE INGRAHAM
family before entering on the special aerial training for the
work to which he aspired. He came home sick, and on
April 11 died at Wellesley of pneumonia, with a smile
and a cheerful word on his lips.
A multitude of friends and comrades in college, training
camps, and business bore witness to their appreciation
of his lovable characteristics and their gratitude for what
his life had already achieved.
15
GUSTAV HERMANN KISSEL
Class of 1917
Vjtustav Hermann Kissel was a son of Rudolph
Hermann Ejssel, senior member of the New York banking
firm of Kissel, Kinnicutt and Company, and Caroline
(Morgan) Kissel. He was born at Washington, D. C,
March 3, 1895. Until he entered Milton Academy in 1909,
his boyhood was spent in Washington and Morristown,
New Jersey. At Milton he learned easily and stood high
in his studies. For two years he was a member of the school
hockey team, and in his last year was one of the four moni-
tors chosen by his schoolmates. Entering Harvard with
the Class of 1917, he continued his interest in hockey as
a member of the freshman team, and was for three years
a member of the second University team. He belonged
16
GUSTAV HERMANN KISSEL
also to the Institute of 1770, D. K. E., Stylus, O. K.,
Hasty Pudding, and Spee Clubs, of the last of which he
was vice-president. With many others of his class he
left college in the spring of 1917, but his work as a student
had been such that at the Commencement of 1918, shortly
after his death, the degree of A.B. was awarded to him,
cum laude.
On May 17, 1917, he enlisted as a private in the Aviation
Section of the Signal Corps in the United States Army.
For eight weeks he studied aviation at the ground school
of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and on
July 17 sailed for France on the Orduna, with the first
American aviation squadron to set out for the front.
This was under the command of Kissel's brother-in-law.
Captain James Ely Miller, who was killed in the following
March in aerial combat. In the same squadron were
Kissel's classmate, WiUiam Smith Ely, besides his younger
Harvard contemporaries, Quentin Roosevelt, and Hamil-
ton Coolidge, all to lose their lives as aviators.
Kissel spent August and September in Paris as a cadet
in aviation, attached to the American Expeditionary
Forces but unassigned. On September 27 he received his
commission as first lieutenant, and proceeded immediately
to England for aviation training at the Central Flying
Station of Upavon, Wiltshire, and at Ayr, in Scotland.
On December 3 he received his British wings. On March
18, 1918, he went to the front, attached to Squadron 43
of the British Royal Air Forces. In a letter of March 30
Kissel, after describing his life at Ayr, wrote:
I was then ordered overseas in active service with a British
squadron and here I am in the midst of the "big noise." This
17
GUSTAV HERMANN KISSEL
is a great squadron and I am enjoying myself immensely. I
won't cross the lines as a war pilot for a week or so, because I
must first fly around and learn the country. We are billeted
in the town, and I have a most comfortable and "honest-to-
God" bed in an old French woman's house. The other ofiicers
seem to be fine fellows, and all in all, I could n't wish for a
pleasanter way to meet the Hun, particularly as my work itself
is bound to be most interesting and exciting.
It was for a Harvard friend and classmate, George C.
Whiting, who had been in training with him at Ayr and
afterwards was attached to the same British squadron in
,the field, to write after Kissel's death, of his qualities as
an aviator:
At Ayr he won for himself the respect and admiration of the
staff as the most brilliant flyer — English or American — that
had ever gone through the school. He was without exception
the most perfect "camel" pilot I have ever seen, and when he
came to "43" he at once took the position of the squadron's
best flyer. As you doubtless know, a pilot upon reaching a
squadron in the field has about two weeks to get acclimated
and familiar with the country before starting war flying. Dur-
ing this time your son had made a reputation for himself
throughout the entire wing. It was generally predicted that
he would surely be America's leading ace.
Less than a month after Kissel reached the front he fell,
April 12, 1918, near Merville, France, in combat. On
the following day Major C. C. Miles, commanding the
43d Squadron, wrote to Kissel's father:
I am very sorry indeed to have to inform you that your son
was missing on 12/4. I have every hope that he is a prisoner
and unhurt, particularly as he was an exceptionally fine pilot
and would not easily be shot down by any Hun. He was last
18
GUSTAV HERMANN KISSEL
seen fighting an Albatross and was "all over" the Hun for
manoeuvre. I am afraid that after this he must have got
separated from the patrol and lost himself and been compelled
to land behind the lines.
He is a very great loss to this squadron, as I am certain he
would have done exceptionally fine work. He was a wonderful
pilot — one of the finest natural pilots I have ever seen — and
very keen indeed.
In greater detail his friend, Whiting, wrote nearly a
year later :
I was with him on his first "show" and know as well as any-
one how he was brought down, but I assure you that if Major
Miles was vague in writing you he told you all we knew.
In a dog fight such as we were engaged in, things happen so
quickly that one scarcely knows what is going on. On this
particular occasion we were attacked by greatly superior num-
bers from above, and at the first burst two of our machines went
down. One I saw falling past me in flames — the pilot evidently
shot — and the other crashed on the ground. It was pure bad
luck that your son was hit, as the Hun seldom makes a score on
the first burst. Except at very close range an enemy machine
is not generally regarded as dangerous.
Your son was naturally put in the best flight in the squadron
and under a flight commander who was regarded as one of the
best and most experienced in the R. A. F.
In the Triennial Report of the Class of 1917, Kissel's
classmate, Laurence M. Lombard, has written:
Those of us who knew Gustav well, who appreciated his
steadfast character, and keen, alert intellect, are not surprised
at his brilliant record in aviation. We knew his quiet, unasser-
tive manner and cheerfulness would make friends for him
wherever he went. To us these gratifying reports of his last
few months are merely a confirmation of our belief.
19
ERNEST EDWARD WEIBEL
Ph.D. 1916
JCiRNEST Edward WEiBEL,[the inventor of "Captain
Weibel's method" for locating enemy batteries, was a
student at the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences for a
single year, 1915-16, at the end of which he received the
Harvard degree of Ph.D.
He was the son of Edward Albert Weibel and Annie
Sabina (Holzapfel) Weibel, native Kansans, whose parents,
20
ERNEST EDWARD WEIBEL
respectively, were Swiss and German emigrants. He was
born at Eudora, Kansas, August 5, 1889, and attended the
grade and high schools at Colony, Kansas, graduating at
the age of seventeen. He entered the University of Kan-
sas in 1906, and graduated from its School of Engineer-
ing, with the degree of B.S., in 1911. His quickness in
mastering his studies enabled him while in college to de-
vote almost all of his time to the physics laboratory and
the power plant of the local Edison Company. Before his
graduation he also held a position for some time in the
Bureau of Standards at Washington. He became a mem-
ber of the honorary scientific fraternity, Sigma Psi.
Tennis and music were his recreations, and there was
hardly an instrument on which he could not play.
Immediately after leaving college he began his longer
service at the National Bureau of Standards. This was
interrupted by a year of study and teaching (1912-13)
at Cornell and by that other year in Cambridge to which
reference has been made. At Harvard he held a Whiting
Fellowship in Physics, and on winning his Ph.D. degree
returned again to the Bureau of Standards as assistant
physicist. In this position he remained until, in Decem-
ber, 1917, he was commissioned captain. Engineer Corps,
United States Army. At the Bureau of Standards he per-
fected several pieces of apparatus afterwards put into use,
among them a device for detecting hydrogen gas in sub-
marines. His work on the "range locator" began about
July 15, 1917. Not until it was successfully tested did he
receive his commission, and it was to put the apparatus
into use as a protection of our troops from the enemy's
gases that he was sent overseas.
21
ERNEST EDWARD WEIBEL
Early in February, 1918, he sailed for France, and was
immediately attached to G-2 C, G.H.Q., A.E.F. Though
technically and more specifically attached to Company B,
29th Engineers, he was trained, with all the other officers
of the "Sound and Flash Ranging Service" of the Ameri-
can Army, with the British, and spent two weeks of in-
struction near the G.H.Q., B.E.F. This was followed
by four weeks at a front line station, known as U-Sound
Ranging Section, First Field Survey Company, British
Royal Engineers.
On April 8, the section to which he was attached was
heavily shelled, and all hands were forced to take refuge
in a cellar. When they came up to clear away the damage
a gas attack began, and so little was its severity realized
that the whole section was seriously affected by it, and
all the officers were casualties. Weibel was taken the
next morning to the hospital. Number 6 Clearing Station,
immediately contracted pneumonia, and died April 12.
He was buried the next day in a British cemetery near
Bethune, where, at the wishes of his parents, his body has
remained. The Post of the American Legion at Colony,
Kansas, bears his name.
"He was such a happy personality," writes his friend
Thomas Amory Lee (Harvard, LL.B. '13), "with such
keenness of intellect and so much cordiality that he won
friends wherever he happened to be. A letter from Major
Augustus Trowbridge, who had had Captain Weibel in
his command, expressed his great personal appreciation
of Weibel's ability and added that he quickly mastered
the technique of his temporary profession, won the esteem
22
ERNEST EDWARD WEIBEL
of the British officers — and his charming personality
evidently quite won their friendship,"
Apart from all his personal qualities, it was Captain
Weibel's peculiar good fortune to make, through his scien-
tific attainments, a definite and valuable contribution to
the conduct of the war from which his own service was so
soon cut off.
23
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
Class of 1915
Arthur Broadfield Warren was born in Waban,
Massachusetts, February 25, 1894, a son of Herbert Lang-
ford Warren and Catharine Clark (Reed) Warren. His
father, who died in 1917, was the first dean of the Harvard
School of Architecture, a scholar and humanist educated in
England and Germany, who for twenty-five years made an
24
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
important contribution to the work of the University as
an agency of liberal education. His mother, who died late
in 1920, was a daughter of the Reverend James Reed
(Harvard, '55), of Boston, President of the New Church
(Swedenborgian) Theological School of Cambridge from
1894 to 1908. His ancestry was American and English
far back into the history both of his native land and of the
mother country.
When he was about two years old his family moved to
Cambridge, which was thenceforth his home. But for
one year in Munich, Germany, where he was a student at
Dr. Coit's School, he received his preparation for college
in the Cambridge public schools. In 1911 he graduated
from the Cambridge Latin School and entered Harvard.
At his graduation with the Class of 1915 he received the
degree of A.B. magna cum laiide. In college he specialized
in German, and in order to perfect himself in that language
he spent the summer of 1914 in Germany as a special
student at the University of Marburg. He returned to
Harvard in the autumn after many interesting experiences
in Germany during the first few weeks of the war. Govern-
ment regulation had compelled him to leave the University,
and he seized the opportunity to visit Frankfort and Berlin
and other German cities before he was obliged to return
to America. The atmosphere surrounding him through
these early days of excitement made him temporarily pro-
German; but his homeward journey was via England, and
through what he learned there he became rather more
rabidly anti-German than most of his countrymen.
During the academic year of 1915-16 he taught French
and German at the Hallock School in Great Barrington,
25
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
Massachusetts. In the autumn of 1916 he returned to
Harvard to study for a master's degree in Romance
Languages. At the same time he was receiving military
instruction in the Harvard R. O. T. C, and in May, 1917,
he left college to enter the first Plattsburg camp. At the
1917 Commencement the degree of A.M. was awarded to
him. He meant to continue his studies after the war but
was undecided whether to seek his Ph.D. at Harvard or
abroad. His earlier wish had been to take it at a German
university, but of course the war altered that.
At the end of the Plattsburg course he received his
commission a? second lieutenant in the infantry, and was
assigned to Camp Devens. After a few days there he was
ordered, September 10, 1917, to Company H, 167th U. S.
Infantry, a regiment of the 42d ("Rainbow") Division.
Formerly the 4th Alabama National Guard, it was now
augmented to war strength by combination with portions
of other regiments. With this company and regiment
Warren served until his death.
The company was in training at Camp Mills, Mineola,
Long Island, until November 5, 1917, when it left for
Montreal. Arriving there early in the morning of Novem-
ber 6, it embarked on the Ascania, landed in Liverpool,
and proceeded to W inchester, where it arrived December 1 .
A week later it embarked at Southampton for Havre,
reaching there December 8 and going to Rest Camp Num-
ber 2. On December 11 it left the rest camp, in the famous
"Hommes 40, Chevaux 8," arriving at St. Blin on the 13th.
The men immediately began clearing mud from the streets
and policing the untidy yards. Warren's knowledge of
French made him particularly useful in that work and
26
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
enabled him to obtain far better quarters for his platoon
than the average.
They left St. Blin the day after Christmas and made a
three days' march through a heavy snowstorm to Leffonds.
Here the drill was more practical, and within sound of big
guns in Alsace the men practised the manoeuvres they
were later to use in action. On February 16, 1918, they
left Leffonds for a town nearer the lines, getting into the
trenches in March. At this stage of his career, while the
official interpreter was absent, Warren took his place. His
first experience in the trenches w^as on March 6, 1918, in
a quiet part of the Lorraine sector. It was really more in
the nature of training than fighting, although some casual-
ties resulted from shell fire.
Early in April, while acting as officer in charge of the
ammunition detail at night and in charge of his platoon
during the daytime, Warren fell ill. After a few days of
working in spite of his illness he was sent to the hospital
at Baccarat where he died on April 15, 1918, of what
proved to be an unusually malignant form of scarlet
fever.
Such is the bare outline of his scholastic and military
career. For the personal qualitj^ of the man himself the
following passages from W^arren's letters written under
arms may well speak:
March 3, 19 IS.
Here I am sitting hj a desk in a comfortable warm room with
a nice cushy staff job. Yesterday I was appointed acting ])at-
talion adjutant to take the place for a few days of the regular
adjutant, who is visiting the front. I have been sitting in the
office all morning, sending out messages and memoranda by the
27
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
orderlies and very much enjoying life, which is enlivened now
and then by a rumble and roar from the big guns, reminding one
that the Boche is still alive and kicking.
Another job has devolved upon me lately. The official inter-
preter is away, and I have been called upon to do my best,
which still is pretty poor, with French officers and civilians. The
difficulty of language causes innumerable misunderstandings,
some of which I have had to straighten out, as well as interpret-
ing when French officers blow in to give our officers some dope,
to explain plans, etc. Yesterday, while I was busy at battalion
headquarters, a French private came in and asked for an inter-
preter. No better man was available, so I stepped over to
French headquarters (there is a French detachment in the same
village) and found there an old French peasant, who claimed to
have been maltreated by the American soldiers billeted in his
barn.
It was only a misunderstanding arising out of the difference
in language. The old Frenchman could not make them under-
stand what he wanted, got violently excited apparently, as they
always do, talked very fast and waved his arms about; and the
Alabamans, a rough, quick-tempered lot, always spoiling for a
fight, lost their tempers. It is hard enough for me to keep patient
with these people when they get going, even though I under-
stand them, for they would rather talk than eat, and never give
you a chance to get in a word edgewise when you are doing your
darnedest to help them. Of course, the soldiers had no business
to rough him up the way they did, but that is the only way they
know of settling difficulties. The French lieutenant with whom
I talked is a prince of a fellow, and we succeeded in calming the
old man with assurances that in the future the soldiers would
show the proper respect due to his age, and observe his rights as
a private citizen. We had no trouble between the French people
and the soldiers in other towns, but these people are sick of hav-
ing their barns and houses used as billets, and are harder to get
on with.
28
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
[Undated.]
Just a hasty pencilled line in the wee small hours of the morn-
ing. I am still very much alive, well and happy. I don't really
think it is the happiness of self-sacrifice, as you say, but the hap-
piness of human nature.
I have settled down to regular hours again but they are just
the reverse of those to which I am accustomed. I sleep all day
and am up all night. By that arrangement I get very little ex-
ercise, for most of the night I am sitting in a dugout. But for
that matter, of course there is less opportunity for exercise in the
trenches at all times than during the period of training: there
is so little room to move about. I rather miss the bright sun-
shine which those who work in the daytime are enjoying, but the
stars are very friendly companions. It is comforting to look
at them and find the same stars that I used to see from the roof
piazza of "The Ledges." Stars have more personality and in-
dividuality than the sun, anyway.
I think people at home get the idea that the trenches are
perpetually a blazing hell, reeking with blood and horrible with
martial sounds. I did not realize myself, till I got here, how
much one sits around and watches, without doing anything.
We are sitting here, they are sitting there; we shell them once
in a while, they shell us. We take a shot in the dark at a sus-
picious sound, they spatter some harmless machine gun bullets
over our heads. Neither side accomplishes anything. The men
are getting impatient. They want to go over and get them, and
some day they are going to do it. They are in excellent si)irits,
absolutely without fear, and eager for action.
In the Trenches,
March 9, 19 IS.
I was up all last night as officer of the guard and I 'm so sleepy
now that I can scarcely hold my head up, but I think I can man-
age to send you some sort of a letter. Mail has been hitting me
heavily lately, after a long interval of no news from home.
After a cold night we are having a beautiful spring day, with
29
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
}>lue sky and bright sunshine, with just enough chill on the edge
of the air to make it interesting and restful. The birds are
tweeting away in the trees and but for the whirr of an aeroplane
one would n't know there was a war going on. However, they
are likely to throw a shell over here any moment; you never can
tell when they'll start. Or perhaps a machine gun somewhere
on the line will start its rat-tat-tat, like an automatic riveter on
a New York skyscraper. Bam! there goes a solitary shell off to
my right. I'll let the shrapnel punctuate this letter and write
bam whenever one explodes. Bam! the blooming things are
rather troublesome sometimes. Last night one destroyed 500
cigarettes that one of the men had just received from home, and
cigarettes, you know, are a priceless possession, being necessary
to a soldier's comfort and welfare and difficult to obtain.
One of the things that impresses me most about this trench
warfare is the amount of ammunition they waste. Somebody
gets tired of sitting around beside a lovely looking gun with
nothing to do, hates to see the ammunition lying idle beside him,
so he fires a few shots just for luck, without particularly seeing
what he is shooting at. Bam! Of course they knock a little hole
in the parapet once in a while — bam! — but it costs them a
good deal to do it. I believe some one has figured it out that if
one man had been killed by every grenade thrown in this war,
there would be no one left alive in the world. From my experi-
ence so far I should say that life in the trenches is rather — bam!
— dull and monotonous. So far, I have not found it all uncom-
fortable. The weather — bam! — conditions — bam! — have
been good and my dugout is not a bad place to live, although it
is rather crowded. Bam!
The French people are awfully unconcerned — bam! bam! —
about the war. In the villages close behind the lines, they go
about their work and lead their perfectly humdrum lives just
exactly as if nothing were going on. Wlien the French anti-
aircraft guns begin — bam! — shelling a German plane, they
rarely stop to look or perhaps merely glance up for a moment,
30
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
shrug their shoulders, murmur "Boche," and go on piling ma-
nurfe by the front doorway, which is a principal occupation in
every French household in the small villages of this particular
"somewhere," at least.
I am very much interested in the newspapers that your
mother occasionally sends me — ham! bam! ham! ham! — I read
in one of them an article by Frank Simonds on the big German
drive which all the military critics are expecting. Bam! bam!
about nine times at an aeroplane! When you are on the line
yourself, or close behind it, as I was when I received this par-
ticular Herald it is — bam! — unusually interesting to see where
they think the big spring Boche drive is going to come. Bam!
The pictures in the Sunday Herald — bam! — I am mighty glad
to get too. Bam! People at home seem to know more about the
war than I do, and American newspapers are much more in-
teresting than the French. I could — batn! — tell you what is
going on right where I am, but I hear nothing of the rest of the
front.
March 19, 1918.
I enjoyed my stretch in the trenches very much. Fortune
favored us with beautiful weather, which still continues, and
when the ground is dry and the air balmy, war is not bad at all,
even if a few machine gun bullets do sing past your ear once in
a while, or an H. E. shell comes hurtling through the tree tops.
The Boche proved himself a very poor shot, so far as I was con-
cerned, and, except for one solitary fragment from a shell that
burst in the air, which struck the ground within a few feet of me,
he did n't come anywhere near me. An incident like that is so
trifling as not really to be worth mentioning; for no one regards
it as a narrow escape. It is astonishing how many shells explode
near one and how many bullets one hears without being hit by
anything.
We are now billeted again in one of the typical French vil-
lages of which I have now seen more than a few. The day we
arrived was hot and glorious with blue sky and sunshine. The
31
ARTHUR BROADFIELD WARREN
regimental band greeted us, as we marched into the village, with
military marches and popular airs; and although we were all
tired from our lack of sleep, and dirty from our stay in the dug-
outs, we picked up our feet and held our heads erect when we
heard the music. There is nothing like a good band, and we
have a crackerjack, to restore our spirits and freshen exhausted
bodies.
I am now back at my old game of making friends with the
French peasants, and have already captured the heart of one
little old woman, crooked and dried up, homely as a board fence,
but cheerful and open-hearted. She seized upon me as soon as
she found I could speak French, bids me an effusive, "Bon jour,
m'sieur," whenever I pass her house, and feeds me apples when
no one else is looking. I imagine she does n't want it too gen-
erally known that she has a cellar full of most delicious apples.
The old "game of making friends" was to end all too
soon.
32
WILLIAM WALLACE THAYER
Class of 1916
William Wallace Thayer, a son of William Foote
Thayer and Martha Horton (Sterns) Thayer, was born at
Westfield, Massachusetts, June 25, 1895. When he was ten
years old his parents moved to Somerville, Massachusetts,
and there he graduated from the Latin High School in 1912.
The minister of the church at Winter Hill with which his
33
WILLIAM WALLACE THAYER
family became closely associated, the Rev. Charles L.
Noyes, has written of him :
He was the most promising youth of his generation among us
— a very engaging, attractive, intelligent, capable personality,
commanding respect as of one beyond his years. He was,
though slight, promising to have the stature of a man above the
average, and with a dignity of bearing which spoke a gift of
leadership. This he showed among his contemporaries, always
being the spokesman, initiator, leader in sports, organizations,
debates, etc., among the young people. He early gave evidence
of powers of expression, and public address. He was gaining in
literary forms, and was thoughtful, serious, logical, and effective
as a speaker. He was of a noble, generous, pure, and high-
minded disposition and character, being an influence toward
all that was honorable and excellent among his associates.
He entered Harvard College with the Class of 1916, of
which he remained a member for only two years. Through
that time he lived at home, and except for playing lacrosse
in his freshman year, took but little part in undergraduate
life outside the classrooms. At the end of his sophomore
year he left Harvard and entered the Massachusetts
Agricultural College at Amherst, Massachusetts. Here he
joined the Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity, in which he was
much beloved, and became a member of the college glee
and mandolin clubs, an officer of his class, and the author
of one of the college songs. The new conditions of his
life provided opportunities, which he was quick to seize,
for the exercise of leadership.
His degree at Amherst was awarded to him in June,
1917, though he had left the college in May of that year
to enter the First Officers' Training Camp at Plattsburg.
On August 15 he was commissioned second lieutenant of
34
WILLIAM WALLACE THAYER
infantry, and ordered to Camp Devens, where he was
assigned to Company B, 301st Infantry, 76th Division.
The strain and exposure of mihtary duties proved too
much for his physical endurance, and in December,
stricken with tuberculosis, he left Devens for the home of
his parents. Uncomplaining, cheerful, and courageous,
he maintained a losing fight with his illness until April 19,
1919, when he died at Somerville. He was buried at West-
field, the place of his birth.
At the Harvard Commencement of 1920 his name was
enrolled among those to whom the war degree of A.B. was
awarded, as of the Class of 1916.
35
ARTHUR RUSSELL GAYLORD
Law School 1915-17
Arthur Russell Gaylord, born at Minneapolis,
Minnesota, March 1, 1893, was a son of Edson S. Gaylord,
a lawyer of that city, and Louise (March) Gaylord, and
traced descent from William Gaylord, an early settler
both of Dorchester, Massachusetts, and of Windsor, Con-
necticut. He attended the grade schools and the North
36
ARTHUR RUSSELL GAYLORD
High School of MinneapoHs, from which he graduated
in 1911. Four years later he took the degree of Bachelor
of Arts at the University of Minnesota, and proceeded at
once, in the autumn of 1915, to the Harvard Law School,
Here he was nearing the end of his second year of legal
study when war was declared.
In May, 1917, he entered the Officers' Training Camp at
Fort Snelling, Minnesota. On August 15 he was commis-
sioned first lieutenant of infantry, and on September 12,
ordered overseas as an observer, and for further instruc-
tion sailed from New York for France. Arriving there
about October 1, he received his first foreign training at
the Franco-American Infantry School at La Valbonne.
On November 12 he was assigned to the 18th Infantry,
First Division, and with this regiment continued his train-
ing at Houdelaincourt, Meuse.
Early in January, 1918, the regiment was transferred to
the front trenches northwest of Toul. Here Gay lord par-
ticipated in repelling enemy attacks on January 26 and
March 1. For the unit of which he was a member there
was no lack of vital service. Late in March he joined the
Fifth Army in front of Amiens at Cantigny, and early in
April was transferred to the Picardy front, near Mont-
didier. Here at Villers-Tournelle, on April 28, Gaylord
was killed in action.
37
FREDERICK ARTHUR KEEP
Class of 1915
Jb REDERiCK Arthur Keep, born at Wollaston, Mas-
sachusetts, November 23, 1892, was the only son of
Frederick Heber Keep and Alice Leavitt (Canney) Keep.
He was prepared for college at the public schools of Mil-
ton, Massachusetts, the home of his parents, and at
Milton Academy. Entering Harvard with the Class of
1915, he left college in January of his sophomore year,
38
FREDERICK ARTHUR KEEP
and became a reporter, first on the Springfield Unioji,
then on the New Bedford Standard, and was afterwards
a special correspondent of the Cleveland News. Return-
ing to Cambridge in the autumn of 1916, he brought to
his work the maturer point of view that resulted from his
experience in journalism, and applied himself especially
to studies in literature which might fortify his own equip-
ment for writing. The death of his onh^ sister in Decem-
ber of this year affected him deeply, and as war became
more clearly inevitable the conflict of Keep's duties to
his parents and to his country must have grown acute.
Such college interests as his membership in the Kappa
Gamma Chi fraternity were soon swallowed up, as with
so many other students in 1916-17, in the problem of his
personal relation to the war. By April his mind seems
to have been c^uite made up, for immediately upon the
declaration of war by the United States he went to Wash-
ington and offered himself as a candidate for an aviator's
commission. He was examined and told to hold himself
in readiness for a call to be made as soon as the necessary
equipment should be ready.
As a member of the Harvard R. 0. T. C, he was one
of the color-bearers at the review of the Harvard Regiment
by Marshal Joffre in the Stadium in May, 1917. On May
13, 1917, he went to the first R. O, T, C. camp at Platts-
burg, and received his commission as a second lieutenant
of infantry on August 13. For a few days in August he
was attached to the 304th Infantry at Camp Devens.
On August 31 he was sent to Camp Borden, Ontario, for
instruction in machine gunnery and military aeronautics
with the Royal Flying Corps — one of the first ten oflricers
39
FREDERICK ARTHUR KEEP
chosen from various camps for this purpose. After further
instruction in aeronautics at Toronto University and at
Cadet Wing, Royal Flying Corps, Long Branch, Toronto,
Ontario, the aviation ground school connected with the
School of Military Aeronautics, he was ordered Novem-
ber 10, 1917, to TaHaferro Field, Fort Worth, Texas,
where he was attached to the 28th Aero Squadron as a
second lieutenant, S. R. C, A. S.
Here he stood always among the first to volunteer for
hazardous duty, and won the commendation of his su-
perior officers for his tireless enthusiasm and devotion to
duty during the trying times when there were few to carry
on the organization of this camp. On November 23 he
met with serious injury in an airplane crash, and was sent
to the base hospital at Fort Worth, suffering from a com-
pound fracture of one of his legs and a broken hip. He
was later transferred to the Army and Navy Hospital at
Hot Springs, Arkansas. After a short leave of absence
to his home, he reported for duty again on March 21,
1918, and was assigned to the 78th Aero Squadron at
Taliaferro Field, the 28th, to which he was previously
attached, having gone overseas in January.
On May 3, while in the air with a fellow-officer, his plane
got into a tail-spin at 2000 feet, and he was unable to right
it before crashing. The severe injuries he received proved
fatal three days later. His body was taken to his home,
and on May 10 received burial in Milton Cemetery with
full military honors.
At the Harvard Commencement of 1920 the war degree
of A.B. was awarded to Frederick Arthur Keep as a mem-
ber of the Class of 1915.
40
FREDERICK ARTHUR KEEP
One of Keep's classmates speaks of him, in the Second
Report of the Class of 1915, as "almost abnormally shy
and sensitive," and armed, when in casual company,
"with an aloof and half cynical manner." His friends
recognized in him "high courage, dash, and fighting
spirit"; but in the words of his class biographer, "only
those who sat with him in his room in Wadsworth during
some of the long spring evenings, or around the wood fire,
in winter, really knew the man."
41
WILLIAM KEY BOND EMERSON, Jr
Class of 1916
xiiMERSON's unselfishness was as natural and as un-
conscious as his breathing; to him it was the simplest
thing in the world quietly to give his life that the world
might be better."
These are the terms in which Frederick Winsor (Har-
vard, '93) spoke of William Key Bond Emerson, Jr., at a
memorial service held at the Middlesex School, Concord,
Massachusetts, immediately after his death. The young
man who earned such praise was born in New York City,
April 9, 1894, the eldest son of William Key Bond Emer-
son and Maria Holmes (Furman) Emerson, At Middle-
sex, from which he entered Harvard in the autumn of
1912, he was for six years a prominent and popular figure
42
WILLIAM KEY BOND EMERSON, Jr.
in the life of the school. "During the first few years,"
it is recorded of him in " Middlesex School in the War,"
"he played on the lower football teams and rowed on the
Sudbury crews, but in both his second and first class years
he was a member of the first School team and crew. In-
terested in everything that was going on. Bill was always
among the leaders in the School, and earned for himself a
reputation as a hard worker and true sportsman. What-
ever he did, he gave his best to, and it was this quality in
him, perhaps, more than anything else that brought him
always to the front."
In college he played on his sophomore and junior class
football teams, and rowed on the victorious sophomore
crew in 1914. In that year he was secretary of the
Crimson. He belonged to the Institute of 1770, D. K. E.,
Stylus, Signet, Hasty Pudding, and Spee Clubs. "His
interest in his studies," in the words of the Class of 1916's
Memorial Report (1920), "was intense, particularly in
French and in literature. It was in the latter that he de-
veloped so strongly the ideals which led him to his long
war record and to his glorious death."
That record began in the summer of his junior year,
1915, when he joined the American Field Service, went
to France, and served with Section 9 of the ambulance
corps in the Vosges. Of his work at that time the leader
of the section afterwards wrote: "He was so straight-
forward and so true and such a gentleman through and
through. He had a great sense of duty and loyalty, and
was morally as well as physically courageous. He was
always so eager to do more than his share that he was an
inspiration to those about him; and ever cheerful, kind,
43
WILLIAM KEY BOND EMERSON, Jr.
and thoughtful, he won the very deep affection and re-
spect of everyone."
In January, 1916, Emerson returned to Harvard, and
in the following June graduated with his class. While
abroad he determined to study aeronautics, and for this
purpose entered the Massachusetts Institute of Technol-
ogy in the autumn of 1916 after a term of special prepara-
tion at the summer school of Columbia University. But
the call of active service was too strong for him, and in
January, 1917, he left the Tech, reenlisted in the Ameri-
can Field Service, and returned to France. Here he was
assigned at first to Section 13 attached to a French
division taking part in the Champagne offensive; but
he was soon transferred to his old section. Number 3,
then engaged, as readers of the memoir of Henry Brewster
Palmer, '10,^ will remember, in service of intense activity
on the Salonika front. Here Emerson acquitted himself
with such credit that he won a citation for the Croix de
Guerre, bestowed for conspicuous bravery while evacuat-
ing wounded under shell-fire near Monastir.
The time for which Emerson had impatiently waited
was now come, and after the United States entered the
war he wrote from Serbia, "Many less able-bodied men
than I could fill my place here, and I feel very strongly
that I should be fighting with our troops in France." To
this end he left the Balkans, and, without returning to
the United States, succeeded in France in obtaining a
commission as second lieutenant, field artillery, in the
army of his country. Assigned to the French Officers' Ar-
tillery School at Valdahon for instruction as an observer,
1 See Vol. II, p. 171.
44
WILLIAM KEY BOND EMERSON, Jr.
he made an admirable record, described in "Middlesex
School in the War" in the following terms:
Thanks to his perseverance and to his mathematical knowl-
edge he graduated at the head of his class and was for a time
made instructor at the school. His letters describing this were
very characteristic, as he emphasized not the pride of accom-
plishment but his regret at the possibility of hurting other men
who had gone through the class with him, and were now put
under him for instruction. For the last week of his stay there,
although he was one of the youngest men in the school, he was
given entire charge of it, according to the report of one of his
companions.
His training at Valdahon was completed in February,
1918. He was then assigned, for a brief period, to the
15th Field Artillery, U. S. A., afterwards to the 228th
French Escadrille, for further aerial training, and finally,
at the beginning of May, 1918, to the 12th Aero Squadron,
U. S. A., then in the Toul sector. His work was that of
an artillery observer. On one of his first flights over the
lines, on May 14, the plane in which he and his pilot,
Lieutenant C. M. Angell (Technology, '18), were flying
was shot down, near Toul, and both men were killed.
Another young Harvard officer, Kenneth Pickens Culbert,
'17, attached to an aero squadron, and destined himself
to fall just a week after Emerson, wrote to Professor
Copeland on May 21st, two days before his own death:
"Billy Emerson, '16, was the sixth [of a small club], but
I regret to tell you that last taps were sounded for him
last week. W'e do not know whether the antis got him,
or whether it was a Boche plane. He went out on a
reglage and was shot down in our lines. He was an honor
45
WILLIAM KEY BOND EMERSON, Jr.
to Harvard, a gentleman and a soldier, and the first of our
little club to gain the one glorious epitaph."
Emerson was buried in the American Cemetery at
Vignot, in France. The aviation field at Camp Jackson,
South Carolina, was named, in honor of this first American
officer killed in action as an aerial observer, Emerson
Field. With the final words about him in the Memorial
Report of his class this memoir may most fitly end:
Those of us who had met Bill socially liked him, those of us
who called him friend loved him. He was always unselfish;
always cheerful; always upright. We never knew him to do
a selfish act; we never saw him without a cheery grin; we
never knew him to betray a confidence. He was always the
same Bill. He was never wanting when we needed a friend,
and he was always solidly behind us when we needed support
in a right course.
We shall always hold his memory as a shining example of
one who gave his all, unselfishly and willingly, to the glorious
cause of liberty.
46
ROGER SHERMAN DIX, Jr
Class of 1918
JLVOGER Sherman Dix, Jr., a son of Roger Sherman
Dix and Louise (Parish) Dix, of Boston and Greenbush,
Massachusetts, was born in Boston, December 9, 1896.
He was prepared for college at the Country Day School
for Boys of Boston, Newton, Massachusetts, and entered
Harvard with the class of 1918. There he was a member
of the Country Day School Club and of Kappa Sigma.
He also joined the Harvard Regiment, and attended two
Plattsburg camps. At the end of his junior year he left
college to enlist in the American Field Service and in July
was attached to Section One near Verdun. This veteran
section had seen hard service since January, 1915, and
between July and October, 1917, the term of Dix's con-
47
ROGER SHERMAN DIX, Jr.
nection with it, won an army citation with pahn, "for its
vahant conduct at Verdun in August, 1917, when every-
body admired its audacity and zeal notwithstanding the
continued bombardment of the roads by large asphyxiat-
ing shells; nor was there any interruption of its service,
though suffering severe losses." ^ Both the dangers and
humors of the time are recalled in the pages of William
Yorke Stevenson's diary, "From Poilu to Yank." ^ Here
may be found an amusing glimpse of Dix:
The latest method to rehabilitate blesses, particularly
"couches," is to be stopped by a cut road or smashed-up "ravi-
taillement " train while shells are coming in. Stout, Dix, Buell,
and several others report remarkable resurrections. "Couches"
get out and run like deer; while "assis" make regular Annette
Kellerman dives into "abris."" Dix had to go up and down a
line of dug-outs shouting: "Ousong mes blesses! Ousong mes
blesses! " for half an hour the other night before he finally cor-
ralled them and proceeded on his way.
A little later, when the section was disbanded in October,
Dix was among those named by Mr. Stevenson as under
treatment at the Johns Hopkins Hospital nearby for
injury from gassing. In November, however, he was
ready to enlist in the United States Aviation Service,
which he did. Through the lack of American planes he
was obliged to remain inactive during the winter. In the
spring, though wishing to be trained as a pilot, he was
informed that he would be sent sooner to the front if he
should take his training as an observer. Accordingly he
^ History of the American Ambulance Field Service in France, Vol. I,
p. 187.
2 Houghton Mifflin Co. 1918.
48
ROGER SHERMAN DIX, Jr.
became one of twenty-five Americans to volunteer for
instruction as bombing observers at the French Bombing
School at Le Crotoy, Somme, in the expectation of reach-
ing the front for the spring offensive. He received his
commission as second lieutenant, May 12, 1918,
Three days later, his instruction completed, with credit
for the highest marks in his class, the prospect of going
to the front within a week clearly in view, he was flying
at Le Crotoy with a French pilot when their plane col-
lapsed at the height of about six hundred feet, and both
Dix and the pilot were killed. A French flyer at the school
summed up the tragedy as the tongue of the mot juste
could best express it: "Co7nme les autresfois, il etait parti
confiant, joyeux, et plein d'entrain. Helas, la mort stwpide
s'est troiive sur son cheynin."
The twenty-four surviving members of Dix's class at
the Bombing School signed their names on the day after
his death to the following letter addressed to his father:
None of the twenty-four flying cadets of this detachment, of
which your son, Roger S. Dix, was a member, has words to
express to you how deeply we feel his loss to you, to us, and to
the American Expeditionary Force. Cadet Dix was easily the
most popular member of this detachment. He was a loyal,
gallant soldier, an assiduous student, an excellent airman and a
splendid companion. Every man counted him his friend and
he had never failed us. His fearlessness, his coolness and his
intrepidity had made it a foregone conclusion that his career
in his chosen service would have been brilliantly distinguished,
and his tragic death is a double loss to us and to the Army,
because he was the possessor of such splendid qualities.
The undersigned, his comrades, feel, therefore, that it is no
less than their duty to subscribe to this memorial and to express
49
ROGER SHERMAN DIX, Jr.
to you, sir, their heartfelt sympathy in your loss. We have lost
a splendid comrade, the Expeditionary Force a fine soldier, and
yourself a noble son.
At the same time First Lieutenant John L. Glover, in
command of these men, wrote:
I wish also to sign my name to the above memorial and to
tell you that, although your son had only been in my command
for six weeks, in that short time I found him to be a most ex-
cellent soldier both on the ground and in the air. He was on
his last training flight, and was to have received the highest
honors of any of my command for his work here. He died while
doing work in the air and while holding the position of the first
in his class. More glory than this no man can claim for his son.
50
JAMES PALACHE
Class of 1918
d AMES Palache was born in Berkeley, California,
July 8, 1896. His father, Whitney Palache, a brother of
Charles Palache, professor of mineralogy in Harvard Uni-
versity, was manager of the Pacific branch of the Hartford
Fire Insurance Company, and is now American manager
of the Commercial Union Assurance Company of London.
51
JAMES PALACHE
His grandfather, James Palache, a native of New York,
sailed round the Horn in 1849, and lived thereafter in
San Francisco and Berkeley. His mother, Belle White
(Garber) Palache, was the eldest daughter of Judge John
Garber, a native of Virginia, a judge of the Supreme Court
of Nevada, a leading lawyer of San Francisco, appointed
to the Canal Commission by President Roosevelt in 1904,
but prevented by his health from accepting the appoint-
ment.
James Palache attended the Randolph School in Berke-
ley and the Thacher School in southern California; he
entered Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut, in 1913,
and enrolled in the Class of 1918 at Harvard the following
year. In childhood, in school, in college, in the Army, the
affection of his friends always testified to the charm of his
personality and character. At Harvard he was manager
of the freshman baseball team, a member of the freshman
and sophomore Finance Committee of his class and mem-
ber of the Institute of 1770, D. K. E., Speakers', Western,
Staplers, Phoenix, and Hasty Pudding Clubs.
In the summer of 1916 he took military training at the
camp at Plattsburg. In the spring of 1917 he joined the
first R. O. T. C. at Harvard, and in May went to the first
Plattsburg camp for officers. After finishing this course,
he was commissioned a provisional second lieutenant in
the Regular Army, and sailed for France January 15, 1918,
where for two months he was under further training.
In March, 1918, after a visit to the French lines, he was
assigned to Company E, 18th Infantrj^ First Division, as
second lieutenant, and first commanded his platoon in
the Cantigny sector. The new trenches assigned to this
52
JAMES PALACHE
platoon were quickly and efficiently prepared. He took
an active part in many coups de main and won great
confidence from his men, who were devoted to his leader-
ship, exercised on many occasions when there was no
necessity for his personal participation, and when, ordi-
narily, a non-commissioned oflScer would have directed
the men. Thus he was known as one of the most popular
younger officers in the First Division.
On April 12, 1918, he wrote to his father, "I have a
wonderful platoon, and need all my sense of balance to
keep from showing my pride too much. To-day we were
highly complimented by the captain and the Frenchmen
who watched it work out. However, I have found this
out — the men in the ranks are the most important ones,
and what they do, or do not do, counts. To get them be-
hind you, and working with you, is an officer's only job —
once that is obtained, the rest is easy." In a later letter,
he spoke of being "occupied with taking care of fifty odd
men, just like children, but the biggest, healthiest, most
lovable, and altogether most fascinating set of young fire-
eaters you ever saw. I'm really having the time of my
life. ... I wrote about being in the trenches with the
French. ... I think they are the most wonderful people
in the world. You have to be right with them in the
French Army to appreciate what they are like, are doing,
have done."
The 18th Infantry was relieved a few days before the
American capture of Cantigny. Captain Campbell, of
this regiment, has written in an official report :
Lieutenant Pal ache was seriously wounded by a high explo-
sive shell on the night of May 14-15, 1918, during the relief of
53
JAMES PALACHE
our company from its sector; Lieutenant Palache was directing
the relief of his platoon at the time, and seeing that the relieving
platoon was properly in place before leaving. It was while thus
engaged that a high explosive shell struck within ten feet of him,
killing three of the relieving platoon, and wounding himself and
two of his men. He was struck in the side of the head by a piece
of the shell, and at first the wound was not considered serious,
although it rendered him unconscious. Everything possible was
done for him on the spot. He was carried by his men and the
writer, who loved him dearly, to the first aid station, and from
that point he was taken by ambulance to the hospital. Lieu-
tenant Palache was loved and respected by his men and brother
officers, and stood equally high in the esteem of his company
commander. His attention to duty was an object-lesson to
those about him, and his bravery was proved again and again,
and recognized by his colonel, who substantiated his recom-
mendation by his company commander for the Croix de Guerre.
His death was keenly felt by the e;ntire command, as he was a
splendid type of an American officer and gentleman. He was
glorious in his death, as his last words before becoming un-
conscious were, "Sergeant, I want to march out at the head of
my platoon."
His wound was received at Villers Tournelle, about a
mile behind Cantigny, and he died in the hospital at
Bonvillers on the evening of the day on which he was
wounded, May 15, 1918. He was buried in the village
churchyard at Bonvillers on May 16, 1918, in the ceme-
tery for the American soldiers who fell at Cantigny.
54
WILLIAM NOEL HEWITT
Class of 1914
William Noel Hewitt, younger son of the Rev.
George Ross Hewitt (Harvard, '83) and the late Helen
Louise (Fairchild) Hewitt, was born in West Springfield,
Massachusetts, December 25, 1891. In 1894 he moved
with his parents to Fitchburg, in 1899 to Lowell, and in
1902 to West Medwav, Massachusetts, where he attended
oo
WILLIAM NOEL HEWITT
grammar school and graduated from the Medway High
School in 1910 as valedictorian of his class. To make a
more thorough preparation for entering college it had been
planned that he should spend a year at Phillips Andover
Academy, which his father had attended, but when he
passed the entrance examinations for Harvard with his
Medway High School class the extra year at Andover was
given up, and he entered Harvard in the autumn of 1910.
As an undergraduate he specialized in music, and took
his degree cum laude in 1914. He was an active member of
the Musical Club of the University, to which he was elected
in 1911. In his senior year he served as its librarian, and
at the same time was business manager of the Harvard
Musical Review. In February, 1914, he was elected an
honorary member of the Pierian Sodality and became the
conductor of its orchestra in the first of his two years of
graduate study. He was also a member of the Kappa
Gamma Chi fraternity, and from the time of his gradua-
tion to the time of his enlistment occupied a room, when
in Cambridge, in the house of the fraternity on Mount
Auburn Street.
In February, 1916, he received the Harvard degree of
A.M., for which, in addition to other required work, he
composed a symphony that won high praise from his
musical instructors and gave promise, as they said, of
unique and original work in musical composition. But
for the outbreak of the war in August, 1914, he would have
gone to Paris in that year to study under Widor, the
famous French organist and composer.
From the very beginning of the war he had taken a keen
and absorbing interest in its progress. His sympathies
56
WILLIAM NOEL HEWITT
were strongly with the Alhes, and as our relations with
Germany became more and more strained he declared
it to be his purpose to render active service to his country
if war with that power should be declared. With this
possibility in view he spent the month of July, 1916, at
the Plattsburg Training Camp. In the autumn of 1916
he accepted the position of organist and choirmaster in
the Episcopal church of Wakefield, Massachusetts, where
he remained until his enlistment. Immediately after the
declaration of war he went to Mineola, Long Island, and,
having passed the requisite tests for aviation, enlisted at
Boston on June 2, 1917, in the Aviation Service. He was
ordered at once to the State University at Columbus,
Ohio, for ground training, and on August 1 to New York,
whence he sailed overseas on August 18 with the "honor
group" in which the high quality of his work at Columbus
had given him a place. Arriving in England about Septem-
ber 1, he passed six weeks more of study in the principles
of aviation at Oxford. Then for instruction in flying he
was sent to France and spent the next four months at the
Aviation Instruction School at Tours. After a brief fur-
lough in the spring of 1918, he was assigned to the Third
Aviation Instruction Centre at Issoudun, France, where
he received his commission as first lieutenant, April 1,
1918. Just as his training was nearing completion, and
he was ready and eager to be ordered to the front, he fell
to his death in an airplane accident. May 18, 1918.
The last sentence in his last letter, written the day be-
fore his death, was this: "I am, as usual, healthily im-
patient." His impatience was not that of one who loved
war, for he hated it and went into it only from a high
57
WILLIAM NOEL HEWITT
sense of duty, and he was only eager to be done with
training and sent to the front.
Of the manner of his death, and of the place he had made
for himself, his commanding officer. Major Carl Spatz,
wrote at once to Hewitt's father:
Lieutenant Hewitt was doing very good work on advanced
types of machines, and was developing into an excellent pilot.
On the morning of the 18th of May, 1918, he was ordered to
make a flight as a part of his training, and was doing well, when
in some unaccountable manner his plane got into a nose dive,
and, before he could regain control, crashed to the earth. The
accident occurred at about 10.30 in the morning, and was im-
mediately reported, with the result that medical and mechanical
aid were rushed to the scene. Your son was severely and fatally
injured and was unconscious when the ambulance reached him.
He was taken to the hospital at once, and despite the fact that
he received the best of medical attention and comfort, he died
at 3.55 P.M. the same day. His death was practically without
pain, for he did not regain consciousness after the smash. At
three o'clock the next afternoon Lieutenant Hewitt was buried,
with full military honors, in the United States x\rmy Cemetery
at this Centre. . . .
He was a young man of exceptional qualifications, and above
all was a good officer and a gentleman. He was greatly ad-
mired and loved by his brother officers, and his death came as
a shock to all of us. You have every reason to be proud of your
son and of his memory, for he was one of those heroes who cheer-
fully gave his all in his nation's service.
In October, 1920, the body of Lieutenant Hewitt was
returned to the United States, and on Sunday, November
7, a funeral service was held at the Congregational Church
in West Medway, of which he had been not only a mem-
ber but, for several years, organist. At the burial at West
58
WILLIAM NOEL HEWITT
Medway full military honors were paid to Hewitt's mem-
ory by the local post of the American Legion.
His unusual gifts as a musician, which he turned to
excellent account even on the crossing to England, gave
great pleasure to his hearers. He was withal a modest,
unassuming young man, full of promise in all the personal
and artistic relations of the life on which he had entered.
59
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
Class of 1916
J. HROUGH the text and the many pictures in the small
privately printed volume which commemorates William
Dennison Lyon, a short and happy life that gave much
happiness to others is tellingly portrayed. From that
volume the substance of the present memoir is directly
drawn.
60
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
His father was the Rev. William Henry Lyon, a graduate
of Brown University in 1868, and of the Harvard Divinity
School in 1873, for nearly twenty years before his death
in 1915 minister of the First Parish (Unitarian) Church
in Brookline, Massachusetts. His mother, Louise (Denni-
son) Lyon, is the youngest child of the late Elij)halet
Whorf Dennison, founder of the Dennison Manufacturing
Company. The only son of these parents, William Denni-
son Lyon, was born in Boston, February 17, 1894.
A love of the sea, first apparent in early childhood, led
him through his young manhood to become an enthusiastic
sailor of smaller and larger boats and afterwards to choose
the Navy as the service in which he could most effectually
do his part in the war. On the sea he found response to
a poetic element in his own nature, an element expressing
itself besides through the creation in his earliest years of
imaginary playmates. When he grew a little older his
imagination revealed itself in a form for which there are
fewer precedents. Among the most private possessions of
his boyhood was a manuscript "Book of Clubs." It ap-
peared to be a list of many clubs, bearing such titles as
"The Exactness Club," each with many members. On
closer scrutiny the names of the members were found to
be made up of the letters of his own name, so rearranged
as, in one instance, to produce nineteen names in all. For
this multiple personality he devised, and wrote, in the
painstaking script of a boy, sets of rules for conduct. One
of these codes read thus: — "No member of this club
must do the following things: 1. No member must think
of himself before he does any other person. 2. No mem-
ber of this club must lose his. temper. . 3. No member shall
61
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
in any way attempt to hurt another person's feelings.
4. No member shall talk loud or be boisterous in public
places or elsewhere. 5. No member shall do another per-
son any bodily harm or injury. 6. No member shall waste
monej' or anything else belonging to himself or any other
person. 7. When you strike, strike hard, but do not strike
more often than is necessary. Be very good-natured,
and never strike or harm a lady." W^hen teaching and
example can so affect a boy's voluntary, hidden plans for
the ordering of his daily life, his education may be regarded
as well begun.
Outwardly it proceeded at Volkmann's School in Boston,
and at Harvard College, which he entered in the autumn
of 1911 with the Class of 1915. He was a member of this
class for two years, after which he was enrolled with the
Class of 1916. He joined the Institute of 1770, the
D. K. E., and Hasty Pudding Clubs, and was one of those
for whom the friendships of college life constituted an
element of highest value. In his senior year the death of
his father, with whom he stood in a relation of extraordi-
nary sympathy, was followed by the necessity of his leav-
ing college on account of the general impairment of his
own health and strength. This was found due to a long-
standing case of appendicitis, demanding an operation
from which he did not recover in time to complete his col-
lege studies. His devotion to his mother and younger
sisters had now become more than ever the object of his
chief concern, and he felt that the time to establish him-
self in the world had arrived.
Wishing to stand on his own feet in this regard, he did
not seek employment, which he might readily have found,
62
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
in the business established by his grandfather, but went
to Worcester, without credentials of any kind to secure a
beginner's job in one of the manufacturing plants of that
city. After several rejections and an acceptance which led
to three weeks of work in a screw factory, where his eyes
were taxed beyond their power of endurance, he was em-
ployed in a wire mill, first as a fellow laborer with a gang
of Turks, then in charge of them. The young lover of
nature, of music, of all beautiful things, and chiefly of his
home, found no time or occasion for self-pity in these con-
ditions, but worked hard, with unaffected enjoyment of
his daily contacts and of that better understanding of the
industrial worker which he was steadily acquiring.
To what ends all this experience would have led, it is
idle to conjecture, for it had lasted only a few months
when April, 1917, brought its challenge to Lyon, as to all
his contemporaries. He wrote a friend asking advice, and
confessing, "Somehow I have never quite taken in the
importance of the situation until now. ... I need a good
hard shaking to wake me up, and the trouble is I realize
I need it but cannot seem to get it or give it to myself."
His duty to his mother, whose health was frail, entered
gravely into his consideration. But it was not long before
his course showed itself clear before him, and on May 1,
1917, having left the wire mill with the assurance of a
place awaiting his return, he enlisted at Newport, Rhode
Island, as boatswain's mate, first class, U. S. Naval
Reserve Force.
Detailed at Newport first to shore duty and then to serv-
ice on a little shore patrol boat, the Lady Betty, he not only
made himself as useful as one with his amateur nautical
63
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
training could, but applied himself hard to preparing him-
self for the examinations leading to an ensign's commis-
sion. There were times of discouragement, when his
thoughts turned to aviation as a more active branch of
service and at one of these times he wrote a friend:
" Things look dead ahead here, and I and my friends would,
I am sure, rather have me really dead doing a man's job
than dead but alive." Nevertheless he stuck to his naval
studies, and in September took his examinations with
success. Early in October he visited home, placed his
commission as provisional ensign in his mother's hands,
and apropos of his new uniform, wrote to one of his sisters
at Vassar : " Swelling with pride, the thrill of my life came
while talking with Mrs. F. at the theatre, when two ladies
rushed up to me with tickets and implored me several
times to show them their seats."
For a few weeks before the end of October, Lyon was
put in command of a small patrol boat, the Doris B. Ill,
at Newport, and before the end of the month received
orders to proceed to the battleship Connecticut, at Norfolk,
Virginia. From November 4 to March 7, 1918, he served
on this vessel as a junior division officer, learning much,
enjoying much. His letters home are filled with glimpses
of the life — a Christmas carol trip about the harbor by
a ship's boat met at most of the other ships "either with
too much or not enough enthusiasm," a New Year's
celebration, inspection on night watches, drill, and lec-
tures. In March he received orders to report for duty as
Executive Officer of the U. S. S. C. (Submarine Chaser)
320, then about to go into commission at Newport.
Much of the final work was still to be done, and into this
64
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
Lyon threw himself with enthusiasm, all the greater for
the cordial relations soon established between the com-
manding officer and himself. His relations with the men
soon became equally satisfactory, and this without their
knowledge that it was he who provided the boat with a
victrola for their entertainment after working hours.
By the middle of May the boat was ready to proceed
from Newport to New London for her final equipment and
the completion of her crew. The surroundings were more
congenial than those at Newport, orders for active duty
were expected in the near future — when, on May 21,
came the end. The circumstances of Lyon's death are
thus described in his memorial biography:
"His labors for this day were nearly over, the lectures
to the crew, together with his other duties as executive
officer. Finally, near the close, sitting quietly in the midst
of his work in the magazine of the little sub-chaser, a gun
which he was cleaning exploded, the bullet entering his
forehead, his death being instantaneous."
His commanding officer, a friend of only two months,
wrote of Lyon a few days later: "I do not expect ever to
meet again such a kind, gentle, manly nature as his. . . •
I often looked upon him with admiration and wished that
I were like him."
A friend of longer standing, one of Lyon's own contem-
poraries, wrote out of more intimate knowledge:
You will never know what Denny was to me, both as my
nearest friend and the most inspiring and live memory. "Over
there" there were many things not easy to face, or to carry
through, and I want you to know that I was trying to live up
to Denny and his ideals. You know, I believe Denny is every
65
WILLIAM DENNISON LYON
bit as alive now as he ever was. He was my best friend, and to
lose him is a loss that can never be filled, but he will be with me
all the time, and his gentleness and unselfishness are going to
be a wonderful source of comfort.
In 1920 the L^niversity conferred upon him the war
degree of A.B. as of the Class of 1916.
66
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
Class of 1916
J. HE roads that lead to Harvard are manv and various.
Paul Kurtz's father, who is associated with the Phila-
delphia banking house of E. W. Clark and Company,
wrote soon after his son's death in France to Mr. Wil-
liam C. Lane, Librarian of Harvard College, as follows:
"It mav interest vou to know that awav back in 1900
and 1901, I met a number of Harvard men at Marion
and Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, and my contact with
them determined me to send my son, William Fulton
Kurtz [Class of 1908], to Harv-ard. Later Paul followed
his brother, and I have always felt that the ideals of fair
Harvard had a great influence on the point of view of
both of my boys."
67
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
A son of this father, WilHam Bunn Kurtz and his wife,
Madge (Fulton) Kurtz, Paul Borda Kurtz, was born in
Germantown, Pennsylvania, September 20, 1893. As a
boy he attended the Friends' School in Germantown and
the DeLaneey School in Philadelphia, from which, in
1912, he entered Harvard. While in college he played on
his freshman baseball team, and later on the second Uni-
versity nine. He was a member of the Pennsylvania,
Southern, D. K. E., Institute of 1770, Hasty Pudding,
and Owl Clubs.
At the end of his junior year — that year of 1914-15 in
the course of which so many undergraduates began strain-
ing at the leash — Kurtz sailed for France to join the
American Ambulance Hospital Field Service. As an am-
bulance driver in the first section of this service he worked,
first in Paris, then in Flanders, from July until December,
when he returned to America, reaching home on Christ-
mas Eve. From January to June of 1916, he went back
to his studies at Cambridge, and took his degree with his
class. In July he rejoined the first section of the American
Ambulance in France. From this time until the following
April the section was stationed chiefly in the neighbor-
hood of Verdun, where it rendered much perilous and
valuable service. In November, 1916, it was cited by
General Mangin for the "most brilliant courage and most
complete devotion" of the officers and drivers.
Two letters written by Kurtz to his mother just before
and just after the United States entered the war illustrate
well the state of mind in which many members of the
Ambulance Service found themselves at this time, and
clearly reveal the individual spirit of Paul Kurtz :
68
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
April S, 1917.
To-day's papers don't say anything of what Wilson and
Congress have done or are going to do, but we are all hoping
that tomorrow, or in a few days, war will be declared. It seems
fairly certain that in this event we will send an Expedition
Force of perhaps twenty thousand regulars as a starter, and
that later more troops will be sent, provided the war lasts long
enough to give us time to train and equip them. In this event
I would feel more or less of an "embusque'' — a rather un-
pleasant French word, meaning a man who takes a soft and
comfortable, safe job when he is capable of doing more — if I
were to stay in the Ambulance. We have been talking over
what we could do in case of war, and there is hardly a man in
this section — ■ and it is probably the same in other sections —
who does not intend to leave and go into some more active
service, — infantry, artillery, or aviation. Those men who are
connected with some military organization at home will go
back if possible to rejoin them, while others, whose enlistment
here expires soon, are going back to enlist in one thing or another.
Having seen what I have of the infantry, I have no desire to
enlist in that, while I am afraid that I could not meet the ar-
tillery requirements. Aviation, then, seems about the only
thing left, and if you feel as I do, — that I ought to offer my
services in case of war, — I would prefer to enlist in the French
Air Service, to which the American Escadrille is attached.
No doubt this will seem rather sudden and alarming to you
at first, but just think for a minute what it means. I suppose
you think of an aeroplane as a thing that means certain death
sooner or later. If you had seen as much flying as I have you
would realize that it has become as safe as driving a Ford am-
bulance. The number of men who have been in it since the
beginning and are still alive, and the fact that the mortality
percentage is lower in this service than in any other branch,
attest this fact. The careful flyer has all the chances in his favor.
To be accepted I would have to be passed by Dr. Gros of the
69
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
Ambulance, and as I am in good health and my eyesight —
which is the main requirement — all right, I don't think there
would be any trouble in this respect. Then, being passed, I
would be sent to a training school to go through a course lasting
from four to six months, depending on my aptitude and the
kind of weather. This part of the work is the least attractive,
according to the men to whom I have spoken, and of course
there is always the chance that the war will be over before I
could get my license.
Once in the air, however, there is not much danger. All the
Americans in the French service, — and there are over one
hundred either flying or in training, — are put on fast, single-
seated, fighting planes, the safest machine yet developed and
the best in a fight. Machines are practically never shot down
from the ground and the only danger is in being winged by a
Boche.
I don't want to go into this because I am tired of the Ambu-
lance, or for the sport of the thing, but simply because I feel
that we owe France a debt that mere "unlimited credit" can
never repay. Just think what she has suffered in the past two
years and a half, while we have been sitting by in safety. I
know we have been generous enough in money and supplies,
but what are they when France has lost and is losing the best of
her men? I tell you, I did a little thinking during my two weeks
in that hospital and I resolved that if the chance came I would
show them that there were some Americans who were n't afraid
to give their lives if necessary, as long as they knew that they
were doing the right thing, and to me the only right thing is to
get into the fight and do the duty that we have been shirking
so long. I have seen enough death and suffering here not to be
afraid of them, and if I could only get into active service (just
once) I would n't care what happened to me. I know that the
Ambulance is doing good work and that we are all "brave
young men." I have seen so much bunk written about us that
I am sick of reading it. If I were at home you would n't want
70
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
me to stay at home and let somebody else go out and do the
fighting for me, I am sure. Well, that is the position I feel
myself in here and being able to do so much more I would feel
myself an " embusque" were I to stay where I am.
Of course I could, as some others have done, have gone into
this without saying anything to you about it, but I think you
know me well enough to know that if you say "No," this will
be enough for me. In case you don't see things from my point
of view, I will stay with the Ambulance until my enlistment
expires the 29th of July, and then come home to try and do
something useful there. If you want to cable for any reason,
the cable address of the Field Service is "Amerifield-Paris."
In the meanwhile don't worry about me, as I won't do anything
without hearing from you.
April 9, 1917.
Our division is still "cti repos.'' . . . America's declaration of
war has n't changed things much for us, though all the French-
men with whom I have talked seem very much pleased.
The day after war was declared I had a very pleasant experi-
ence. As it was warm and clear, four of us decided to walk over
to Verdun, which is fifteen kilometres away, to see the city and
the changes that had taken place since we were last there in
September. After walking around the town we decided to go
through the citadel, if possible, and went to the office of the
Commandant, who, after looking at our papers and finding out
who we were, very kindly detailed a man to act as our guide.
The first thing he suggested was that we have a drink in the
Officers' Mess, a long, barrel-shaped tunnel in the heart of the
citadel some hundred feet underground, perfectly secure from
shells and detailed for the use of the officers and orderlies. At
the next table were about twenty officers of a regiment who
had come down from the trenches the day before and were
celebrating the event. We had no sooner sat down than one of
them jumped up and shouted " Vive les Etats-Unis." Naturally
we stood up, much to their surprise, but when they saw who we
71
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
were nothing would do but that we should join them and all
sorts of toasts were drunk to the United States, France, and the
Allies. It was a most cordial reception and coming as it did
from men who had just been in the trenches and managed to
come out alive, meant much more than something that had
been pre-arranged.
Yesterday, being Easter, was a holiday for the soldiers and
in the afternoon we played a soccer game w ith a team of men
and officers of the aviation squadron in w^iose barracks we are
living, and although they had some professionals we managed to
hold them down fairly w^ell and were only beaten 2-1. If the
weather is propitious we are going to play them again tomorrow,
though just now I am so stiff that I can scarcely walk and most
of the rest of the team are in the same condition.
Yorke Stevenson ^ came back yesterday entirely healed up
from his accident. From his account of things at home people
must be pretty busy getting ready, and it certainly is time they
did something. If the war keeps up a year longer, they will
realize that there is really a war going on over here. The Eng-
lish are getting started at last, and the outlook for the Allies
seems brighter all the time. The Huns are up to their old tricks
again, and there is a notice in the village warning everyone
against poisoned candy, which they have been dropping from
aeroplanes. Two nights ago I was standing outside when a
Boche plane flew overhead and then went off to the next village
where it fired with a mitrailleuse into the houses, luckily doing
no damage. Ten minutes later a French plane was off and as
a reprisal flew over towns in the German lines and fired into
houses where there were lights in the windows. The Boches
have n't been over since.
To the request for his parent's consent to his entering
the aviation service, Kurtz's father cabled: "Permission
1 William Yorke Stevenson, of Philadelphia, author of At the Front
in a Flivver, and From Poilu to Yank, each containing many references
to Paul Kurtz.
72
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
to aviate lovingly given." On this he would have acted at
once but that the head of the American Field Service
wished him to retain his connection with it, as commander
of a new section. Number 18, until the following August.
Accepting this responsibility, Kurtz remained at his peril-
ous post, in the neighborhood of Verdun, until the ap-
pointed time. He then resigned, and succeeded in joining
the United States Air Service. A friend who saw him
the following winter in his aviator's uniform, noticing
that he was not wearing the ribbon of the Croix de Guerre
with star, which he had won as an ambulancier, exclaimed,
"Why, Paul.?" and received the reply: "Oh, because I
did n't win it in aviation, and with my uniform it looks
as though I did." The citation accompanying this award
of the Croix de Guerre read as follows :
Volontavre Americain, a ete d'un devouement admirable pen-
dant Vhiver 1916—17 tant en Argonne que dans le secteur de la
cote SOJf.. A notamment fait preuve des plus belles qualites d' en-
durance, de courage, de mepris du danger, en assurant, le jour et
la nuit du 25 au 28 Janvier 1917, V evacuation des blesses par un
temps effroyable sur une route particidiereinent bombardee.
His training as an aviator, rewarded first by a French
pilot's license, and then, November 20, 1917, by a com-
mission as first lieutenant, American Aviation, Signal
Corps, was carried on at flying schools at Pau, Tours,
and Cazaux, at the Royal Flying Corps School at Hj^the,
near Folkstone, England, and an aerial gunnery school
at Turnberry in Scotland. As a result of all this prepara-
tion he expected to become Head Instructor of Pilots in
a new American Aerial Gunnery School in process of con-
struction on the French coast. On April 25 he wrote
73
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
home that since this school would not be finished for some
time, he hoped to become attached at once to a flying
squadron and sent to the front. This was indeed his
heart's desire, and it was accomplished when, for the sake
of gaining an actual war experience before himself be-
coming an instructor, he was ordered to report to the
94th Aero Squadron, First Pursuit Group, a fighting unit
with which the names of Quentin Roosevelt, Hamilton
Coolidge, Raoul Lufbery, James Norman Hall, and
"Eddie" Rickenbacker are memorably associated.
This unit, when Kurtz joined it in May, 1918, had been
patrolling the front between St. Mihiel and Pont-a-Mous-
son for about a month. For a few days, the flight com-
mander, Captain Rickenbacker, gave him the practice
of short flights and frequent landings in a "Baby Nieu-
port" machine, with which he had not hitherto been
familiar. By May 22 Kurtz felt himself ready for what
Captain Rickenbacker, in his book, "Fighting the Flying
Circus," calls "that greatest adventure of the young
pilot: that first trip over the enemy's lines."
In this book Kurtz's first and last flight as a fighting
aviator is described. Captain Rickenbacker and Lieu-
tenant Chambers agreed that Kurtz should accompany
them on what was called a voluntary patrol. Kurtz was
not to join in a fight unless the advantage was on the
side of the Americans. They started early in the morning
and encountered three German planes. Rickenbacker,
shortly after nine o'clock, defeated one of them, which fell,
near Thiaucourt, within the enemy's lines. The other two
took to flight, pursued by Chambers and Kurtz. On his
wav back to the American base Rickenbacker had a nar-
74
PAUL BORDA KURTZ
row escape from firing upon Chambers, whom he mistook
for a German. For a time he lost sight of Kurtz whom at
last he saw circling over a field near their aerodrome, pre-
paratory to landing. Suddenly his machine burst into
flames, for no apparent reason, and crashed to the earth.
Kurtz was instantly killed.
Rickenbacker was told soon afterwards by an officer
who had joined the squadron with Kurtz that in flying
at high altitudes he was sometimes subject to fainting
spells. Whether he was seized in this way, or fell a victim
to an unexplainable accident, there is no positive means
of knowing. His grave in American Cemetery, No. 108,
near Toul, was next to that of Major Lufbery, who had
fallen but a few days before. "I had got my Boche,"
wTote Rickenbacker, after a brief description of Kurtz's
funeral, with the incongruous whine of shells overhead;
"but I had lost my friend, and he had perished in the
manner most dreaded of all aviators, for he had gone
down in flames."
Memorial services in Paul Kurtz's honor were held on
July 7, 1918, in Calvary Church, Germantown, in which
he had been confirmed, and on the Sunday before his
second sailing for France, had received the Holy Com-
munion.
75
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr
Class of 1911
rCiCHARD Mortimer, Jr., a son of the late Richard
Mortimer of New York City, and Eleanor Jay (Chapman)
Mortimer, a sister of John Jay Chapman, of the Harvard
Class of 1884, was born in Bavaria, near Munich, July 28,
1888. His preparation for Harvard was made at St.
Mark's School, Southborough, Massachusetts. There he
excelled in football, boxing, and track; and revealed an
all-round capacity clearly indicated by the words, in the
memorial volume "St. Mark's School in the War against
Germany": "To a quick perception, ready intellect and
quiet, keen wit, he brought the steady application and
industry which assured him success in his undertakings."
At Harvard, where he completed his college work in
76
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr.
three years, he belonged to the Institute of 1770, D.K.E.,
Kalumet, and Hasty Pudding Clubs. A classmate and
devoted friend at school and college, who watched him
at St. Mark's, lightheartedly winning at games, saw that
at college "he disliked the hurry, the crowds of the outer
world," and also that he read, learned really to ride a horse,
and made a host of friends. From the college he went in the
autumn of 1910 to the Law School, began to collect books,
went on with his riding, which made him and the horses he
rode well known at such meetings as those of the United
Hunts, the Country Club at Brookline, and the annual
steeplechases at Myopia. On graduating from the Har-
vard Law School in 1913, he entered the Boston law office
of Warner, Stackpole, and Bradlee, and the observant
friend already quoted "noticed that the older men were
glad to stop and talk with him." One of their number,
John T. Wheelwright of the Harvard Class of 1878, wrote,
after Mortimer's death, of this young New Yorker who
made his home and sought his career in Boston:
To those of us of an older generation who had the privilege
of association with him, he seemed the flower of American
knighthood. I use this phrase advisedly, for there was in his
fine courtesy and fearless courage that which justifies its use.
He had a well-trained mind and was already making a name
for himself at the bar when the rising storm clouds in 1916 led
him to be one of the first to go to an aviation camp, not a
Government one, and notwithstanding his defective eyesight
and delicate constitution he persevered in this perilous branch
of the service, which was one exactly suited to his dauntless
spirit.
In the pleasant days of old he shone in horseback riding and
steeplechasing. One of the last pictures of him in the memory
77
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr.
of his friends was his driving a scratch four-in-hand, with a gay
party, to the race in the fall of 1916 at Topsfield and jumping
off the coach and taking off his greatcoat, appearing in his rac-
ing colors and taking the jumps in the steeplechase with skill
and success.
Wherever he went he brought the spirit of delight. But be-
yond all this was his fine wit and his serious purpose to serve
his profession and his country.
Before Mortimer could establish himself firmly in his
profession, Europe was plunged in war, and not much
later the participation of the United States became an
obvious possibility. In the winter before it became a fact,
Mortimer, like the sportsman he was, began to prepare
himself, by an elementary course in the Curtis School, at
Newport News, Virginia, for the work of an aviator. When
his country joined the belligerents, he offered himself for
the aviation service, but was met at first with refusal on
the score of defective eyesight. A later application was
successful, and on May 31, 1917, he was accepted as a pri-
vate, first class, in the Aviation Section of the Signal
Corps, and began his training at the Massachusetts In-
stitute of Technology Ground School. From this he gradu-
ated, July 28, and in August sailed overseas to receive the
more advanced instruction in flying at English training
schools.
For this purpose Mortimer was stationed successively
at Oxford, where he lived at Queen's College and re-
sponded warmly to the old-world charm of his surround-
ings, at Stamford in Lincolnshire, at Shoreham-by-Sea in
Sussex, and at Ayr in Scotland. On March 27, 1918,
while he was at Ayr he received his commission as first
78
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr.
lieutenant. At almost the same time the news of his
father's sudden death cast a heavy shadow across the life
in which he was taking such pleasures as it might yield.
These took the form of occasional visits to London, where
there were friends and relatives to be seen, of companion-
ship with congenial fellow-students of aviation, of reading,
and of correspondence with his immediate circle at home.
Fragments from his letters to friends and family are sig-
nificant.
From Oxford, for example, he writes that a fortune-teller
predicted that all kinds of bad things would happen to
him, and adds, "By the way, I am going to get through
this war — he was certain of that." From Shoreham he
writes, February 15, 1918: "I feel as if I might be a fairly
decent aviator. I have come on very fast this week. It's
all due to stunting and taking liberties with the machine
in the air. You get up to a height of about 2500 feet so
that you have plenty of room to recover in case anything
happens, and then try loops, spins, steep turns, and all
kinds of things. You've no idea how quickly it gives you
confidence. You feel as if you could do anything you
wanted. Yesterday I found myself flymg upside down.
Nothing happens, of course. It's very easy to straighten
a machine out of any position you find yourself in." In
November he writes from Stamford, "I have been reading
Shakespearian plays lately, and enjoy them a lot. I bought
several small volumes which I carry about in my pockets."
After a tiresome sojourn in Lincoln, in the following April,
"I read an awful lot there— William James. I wish you 'd
read him some time. Some of his books are perfectly
great. They give one the freshest outlook and make you
79
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr.
feel full of energy and cheerfulness." A few weeks later
the need of such a stimulus appears, when he writes from
Bristol, "I have had an occasional fit of spring fever, i.e.
the dumps, but nothing serious. Luckily in this sort of
work I can always manage to get away from the mob.
How much easier army life is for those people who like a
crowd!" Apart from such specific matters his letters
were constantly revealing a lively concern in all his in-
terests at home, his horses. Myopia Hunt affairs, his
friends, and the readiness of a modest, competent, en-
gaging young American to get what he could from the
counterparts of these interests under new conditions.
By the spring of 1918, his training was advanced to the
point at which he could be assigned to a definite piece of
work, namely that of "ferrying" new machines from the
places of manufacture in England across the channel to
France. On April 8 he wrote from London, "I am still
'ferrying,' took a machine to France yesterday. It's very
amusing, you get to know the whole of England. It's like
travelling on a map, as the coast lines stand out so
clearly." A fortnight later he tells of a mishap in landing
due to the mistaking of one town for another of the same
name.
What he would naturally have much preferred from
the first was an assignment to regular squadron duty on
the front. At length it came. On May 21 he wrote
from the front, under the heading, No. 83 Squadron, 9th
Wing, R. A. F., B. E. F., "I am on the threshold of the real
thing now. I have been assigned to 'flight.' On the very
next day while he was practising war manoeuvres, Morti-
mer's machine, by some unexplained accident, came into
80
RICHARD MORTIMER, Jr.
collision with another. The tailplane of his machine was
cut oflF, and falling from a height of 4000 feet, he was in-
stantly killed. This was near Hesdin Wood in the north
of France, and there he was buried, his grave marked
with a cross made from the propeller of an aeroplane.
In September, 1920, a bridge inscribed with Mortimer's
name w^as dedicated to his memory at the Myopia Hunt
Club.
In the St. Mark's School volume from which a few words
about Mortimer have already been quoted, his personal
charm, his courage, and other high qualities, are set forth
with sympathy and understanding. "And beneath every-
thing," says the writer of the memoir, "unknowTi perhaps
to those who saw him but casually, was a sweetness of
disposition seldom found in either man or woman, a re-
sponsive, eager sympathy and optimism which made his
mere presence a privilege and a benediction. His school
and his college and his country may honor him for his
brave heart and his loyal devotion; but in the hearts of
his friends alone lies the more precious gift and memory of
all, the spirit of a love which can never fail."
81
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
Class of 1917
J. H E paternal ancestors of Kenneth Pickens Culbert were
English and settled in Canada, where his grandfather and
uncle held government posts and bore an active part in
the development of the country. On his mother's side the
descent was English, Scotch, and French, and withal so
American that more than fifty representatives of his stock
are counted among those who bore arms in the American
Revolution. He was born at Bellevue, Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, August 22, 1895, the son of William Henry
Culbert and Emma Leonie (Pickens) Culbert. During his
childhood his parents moved from Pittsburgh to East
Orange, New Jersey, where Culbert attended a private
school and then prepared for college at the East Orange
82
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
High School and with private tutors. He graduated at
the High School in 1913, valedictorian of his class. For
four years he had played on the school football and base-
ball teams, and in 1913 he was captain of the school track
team.
At Harvard, which he entered with the Class of 1917, he
rowed on the freshman crew, became a member of the
freshman football squad, of the University football squad
in his sophomore year, and of the University crew squad
in 1915, 1916, and 1917. He belonged to the Freshman
Mandolin and University Musical Clubs, and served on
the sophomore and junior entertainment committees of
his class. His clubs were the D. K. E., Institute of 1770,
Speakers', Phoenix, Stylus, Signet, and Hasty Pudding.
In addition to these interests and activities, Culbert ap-
plied himself so effectively to the task of "making" the
Crimson that he led the competition for the paper in his
sophomore year; in his junior year he was secretary of the
Board of Editors.
Culbert's direct connection with the war began with his
enrollment in the R. O. T. C, in which he rose, before the
end of his senior year, to the rank of captain. Before that
year ended, he left college to enter the U. S. Marine Corps
training school at Quantico, Virginia. Here he received
his commission as second lieutenant (M. C), August 27,
1917, and was assigned to the 74th Company, 6th Regi-
ment, Marines, stationed at Quantico. On September 17,
he sailed with his regiment from Philadelphia for France
on a vessel that was forced to put in at New York, whence
its final departure overseas was made September 22. In
this brief interval Culbert was married, September 19,
83
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
to Miriam Edith Towle of Cranford, New Jersey (Welles-
ley, '18), to whom he had been engaged for nearly a year.
Soon after reaching France, Culbert became so inter-
ested in aviation that he secured a transfer, October 16, to
the First Corps Aviation Schools at Gondrecourt, where
he was commissioned Student Naval Aviator, November
26. On February 5, 1918, he was assigned to Escadrille
217 of the French Army, operating in the Champagne
sector. "For two months," writes his friend and class-
mate, R. T. Fry, in the Triennial Report of the Class of
1917, "he flew with the French, but on April 1, 1918, was
transferred back to the First Aero Squadron, then at
Ourches in the Toul sector. During this time Culbert
had become, as expressed by one of the majors of his
former regiment, 'one of our most skilful and daring aerial
observers,' a fact attested later by the award of the Croix
de Guerre, made in recognition of his work during the
battle of Seicheprey and other occasions."
Three letters from Culbert to Professor C. T. Copeland
show him in France at three stages of his experience, in
the training school, with the French, and with the Ameri-
can Army. They are quoted here with some fullness, both
for what they tell about war-time conditions, and also for
their revelation of Culbert as an observer, not from the
aerial point of vantage only.
November 21, 1917.
. . . Perhaps a few words about myself will get me "ori-
ented," and give me a bit of a framework to build upon. I got
my commission in the United States Marines without any
trouble, thanks to your and other letters, and a long lanky
frame. Darrah Kelley, was under-weight, and no amount of
84
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
argument and pleading could make up for the deficiency. I felt
extremely sorry, but was powerless to do anything. After a few
months with the Sixth Regiment at Quantico, Va., — a place
selected for a cantonment by a process that eliminated all logic,
and brought politics to the fore, — we got off in the early part
of September. As I stood a regular turn in the submarine
watch, — two on and six off, — I can assure you very sincerely
that the transports take no end of precautions to evade the
"fish," as conmianders call them. In thirteen days we sighted
France, going slowly up a tiny river into a small port, just as
dusk settled. Some women were waving American flags on the
porches, or rather the doorsteps, of their tiny white houses, and
I felt thrills leaping from my heart to my head that I shall never
forget. The spirit of France, her sacrifices and hardships, her
maltreatment and loyal fight — a lot of boyish emotions made
m.e stand up straight as an arrow. And I noticed the sternness
of the expressions on the faces of the officers about me. We were
beginning to realize why we were there.
Once on land we hustled to a camp and got shook doAvn.
Then we began the work which a vanguard must always do in
preparation for that which is to follow. Of course, some of
the work did n't have much to do with the rifle and bullet, or the
bayonet, but it was and is necessary; at present of vastly greater
importance than the above. With the necessity of five men be-
hind the lines for one at the front the adage about the acorn and
the oak is reversed to a large extent as regards war. The gigan-
tic proportions of the preparation that is necessary, — in ways
of transportation, cantonments, supplies, etc., before we can
really take care of the big armies which are to come in the next
few years, — are almost inconceivable. My one constant hope is
that the desire to enter the fight as soon as possible will not cause
some of these preparations to be hustled or slighted. Every-
thing up front depends on the efiiciency of the forces in the rear.
I with many other ofiicers soon left the regiment for instruc-
tion in the ways and means of playing the game. And we've
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
been getting it for the past couple of months in a manner that
makes one itch for the actual hunting grounds. Sir, I admire,
sympathize with, and love the French, but it's the British to
whom I give my respect. They've got the "spirit of the bayo-
net"; they've changed their easy-going temperament and,
taught by bitter experience, answer the cry "Kamerad" with
a short sharp jab; they're fighting mad, playing the game for
all that it's worth. System? They've got everything down to
a fine point; a great part of the time the Tommies don't even
realize that the games they are playing are developing just the
traits of character and strength of muscle necessary to exter-
minate the Boche. Oh, the Germans are afraid of them. They
know what lies in store for them when the English, the Cana-
dians, or especially the Australians are opposite them, and in the
still small hours they come sneaking over singly and in pairs to
give themselves up. Which is what every sensible Boche ought
to do right now, — in my humble estimation. Unfortunately
very few of them are sensible.
So we're passing the time training and hardening up, occa-
sionally getting actual experience where "make-believe" no
longer holds. I personally am to be the aerial observer of an
infantry contact machine, a duty that to me is as interesting
as it is important in battle. Before I came over I had never
heard of such a man, indeed it 's been a succession of hearing,
learning, and putting into practice new things, new methods of
killing the enemy. The old-fashioned all round infantryman is
but the shade of past glories; today everyone is a specialist in
some one particular thing, and informed in all things generally.
Gas, with its terrifying results, trench mortars, automatic rifles,
grenades; bayonets, wire entanglements; trenches; communi-
cation systems; aeroplanes, — what not? All have men who
speak of nothing save them. War is even more highly special-
ized than modern industry in the heads of efficiency experts.
And we 're going to keep on specializing until we 've won. Surely
it will take a few years; casualty lists will be heavy; mistakes
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
will be made, but the point is we will win. Furthermore the
sacrifices necessitated at home and the new ideas derived there-
from, are going to help the United States along considerably, in
ways that will be more than subtle. Do you think I am mis-
taken, sir?
I heard of Billy Meeker's ^ death with sadness. He was the
first of our class to go. To me though, there was something
glorious in his death, for the motives that permitted the possi-
bility of death were of the purest. Many more will follow, — all
gladly, — content in knowing that they are doing their share.
March 22, 1918.
It's been long since I've written — almost four months
now — so there 's much to say. For incursions or prolonged
"Permissions" into the personal I hasten to apologize — yet
after all, war can only be interesting through its reaction on
every individual. Not that every one of the millions fighting —
or helping those that fight — has a different reaction, but most
Americans have, because we 're new at the thing, because we 've
come far to express in work thoughts that stirred our minds in
oddly different ways! Somewhere I suppose Mars is compla-
cently thinking to himself "I am he! — I am the one who has
revolutionized the thoughts of millions of men! I am he who
saturated the minds of the Huns with lust for conquest; I am
he who awakened the soul of America, and planted the seeds of
nobility in her heart. I, I alone, have done all this!" Well, sir,
from the mess some profit must come — and I believe that the
individual as an individual is the recipient. Later the good will
come to individuals bound together as a state — but not for
years.
Perhaps my opinion is boyish ! One thing is certain — the
awakened desire to help is of inestimable benefit to a man; and
the gradual changing of that eager desire for adventure and for
glory to a pounding powerful determination to never relax until
right is won is of even greater benefit. The slogan of the French
1 See Vol. II, pp. 105-113.
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
poilus exemplifies that; nothing but supreme respect exists in
men when I hear them say ''lis ne passeront pas." War for
them is so vastly different than it is for us — as yet. But enough
of reflections; "the froth is out of the bottle," as Meredith says
— so on to my story,
I intensely wish that you were here tonight. You would see
the newest phase of warfare at its very best ! The moon is high
in a clear sky, stars are shining brilliantly and the intersecting
rays of search-lights are restlessly shifting all over the heavens.
I've just come in from watching it all. The roar of motors in
the air is constant; the frequent bursts of our shells and the
stray tak-tak of our machine guns is entirely drowned now and
again by the terrific bursts of the bombs landing in the near dis-
stance; — it's a game of give and take, with the odds in favor
of bombing planes, for they are as needles in a mammoth hay-
stack ! The night is ideal for their work — so ideal that women,
children, and civilian non-combatants in the towns back from
the front will suffer heavily. It 's a powerful weapon — it 's
demoralizing effect must be tremendous.
Frankly the first time our field was bombed — (or rather was
the target for poorly placed bombs) — I was quite weak about the
knees; now I have not even gone to the dugouts. You see when
you figure it out : if the Powers that be decide that a mass of
steel is going to fall so accurately from miles above that my
little six by six semi-dugout is going to get hit — well, I guess
I 'm scheduled then for fair. Rank fatalism — is n't it? Only
truthfully, it's not, for I've never thought up such an argument
until this instant. It's the coming thing in aviation. I believe
that in another year twenty squadrons — not three — will
bunch together and go miles and miles into Bocheland, seeking
the most effective resting place for their burdens. Some of the
larger, more destructive bombs are tremendous things, and,
well-dropped, their capacity to make buildings look like nothing
at all is remarkable. Certainly they detract a bit from the horror
of the San Francisco earthquake! But so it goes.
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
Of what Americans are doing I know nothing except that
which I read in the French papers. Reports credit them with
all the fighting spirit, bravery, and cool-headedness that the
great majority of Uncle Sam's soldiers possess. I believe we're
holding a part of the line in four or five different places —
and holding it well. That's splendid — glorious — indicative
of that which is to come. And only as the latter can we —
must we — view it. It's like the delightful order of the roast
which is to be eaten — the real thing is yet to come. I say
"delightful" because years from now that is how every mem-
ory of our part will be. There are millions on the other side,
trained fighting machines, with as little of the milk of human
kindness in their make-up as is allowed by the laws regulating
the formation of mortals in God's workshop. One burst, or
intermittent bursts, of American enthusiasm and patriotism will
be worse, far worse, than nothing at all. Men, men, men, and
more men must come; and to maintain them the necessary food,
guns, material, gas equipment must be sent in ever increasing
quantities. I know we have the older men at home who have
the brains to arrange the extensive work required. It would be
a sin if they could not profit from the early mistakes of our
Allies — and simply get together to work for one end. But war
has not touched home and, until it does, patriotic men with
hearts and minds working normally, will constantly have to
fight those smaller, meaner "things" whose hearts are sadly out
of place, whose minds have degenerated from years of the com-
mercial art of cutting throats. Yes, it's a figurative expression
only, but how terribly near it comes to being the truth. For
every single man who offers his service to the government for
nothing, I imagine there are many who see the war as an op-
portunity. Sir, if we can't get into it whole-heartedly, with
every physically able man fighting and all others helping be-
hind the lines (their work is quite as important), it's better that
we get out of it at once.
Tonight at dinner, for instance, we had a poilu as guest of
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
honor. At the tables were the ten French officers of the esca-
drille, Saunders (a southern chap of the finest character) , myself
and the poilu. The latter was a man of forty-five; he has been
in the war for two years and a half, serving at present with a
battery of 155's in the woods north of here. The inspiring part
of the incident was that he was the father of the first lieutenant
commanding the escadrille. Yes, because the war is in France,
and not in United States, it throws a different light on the
question of personal contribution, but in that incident is food
for thought for those at home not helping, even vicariously.
We 've got a big, sober, horrible task before us as a nation. Only
by realizing it as that alone can we hope for anything save weak
memories. For those Americans who have died, countless
thousands must come to die, and so on and on until that glori-
ous time when America shall be synonymous with "honor," and
the rights of man and woman, — in the eyes of all the world.
Eventually — not now — we shall win, for we must win. We
must!!!! We have no alternative, we want none.
How I wish that everyone at home could see the front, could
see ruins that once were peaceful country villages, shelled ground
that once was productive fields, miles of stumpy lands that
once were quiet forests, picnic places perhaps for the peasantry.
How I wish they could see stalwart men huddled together, white
bandages over their eyes, blinded from gas; or a few of the
chaps reached by liquid fire ! You see it 's not the old-time war-
fare of rifles and bullets, or even the later warfare of huge shells
— but it 's the newest and most horrible warfare of a combina-
tion of all things terrible. The worst part only comes in war of
movement, it is true, such as has occurred in this sector for the
last few days — but the rest of the time trench life is pretty
much of a bore, I imagine. When I 'm not in the air (and a three
hour turn finishes the day's flying) I often hop a truck to a spot
a mile or so from the trenches (for we have a big mountain as
part of the trench system, with our troops on the summit, which
affords a fairly good approach) and wind my way through com-
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
munication trenches to the front lines. It's a useless sort of
warfare, three or six months waiting in caves and mud for a few
days of attack, an attack which regardless of its outcome means
a resumption of the dugout life. The men are comfortable, as
that goes, in their dugouts, huge holes which shoot twenty to
thirty feet underground in this particular sector — and the
shells which fall ordinarily do nothing save cut up the ground
a bit more, if such a thing is possible. Those men are the real
heroes of this war, though. Theirs is the hardest task, theirs the
greatest sacrifices, the greatest personal hardships. It makes
you stop in supreme admiration when you think of men having
lived that life for over three years and still cheerfully, grimly,
sticking on and on — that the "bells" in the German village
churches shall not ring in announcement of new victories. At
such times America's duty shines most brightly before my eyes!
We are late — unquestionably — but I trust not too late.
You 've probably wondered — as many others have — when
the proposed German drive is to come. Perhaps the rumblings
from distant sectors, and the recrudescence of artillery fire that
has occurred in this sector within the last few days are the be-
ginnings. WTio knows? At all events the French are calmly,
confidently awaiting the big test; and from what I've seen of
them, I have gathered great confidence in their military system
and their soldiers. They are better prepared at this moment,
the morale of their army is better, and, all told, the entire situa-
tion is brighter than it has been at any time since the beginning of
hostilities. Of the British I have seen little — nothing — of late,
but they are better soldiers than the Huns and the Huns know it.
Myself, I finished training in January, and since then have
been with Escadrille 217, in the Champagne sector. My work
takes me over Rheims daily. You can imagine how beautiful
the semi-ruined cathedral is as the oblique rays of the sun,
striking it, make it loom up above the tiny houses cluttering
about. It is a dream picture, — one which I would like to look
down upon for hours, but I am generally otherwise occupied.
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
Aviation is a comfortable, interesting life. There's none of
the constant noise of shells, there's none of the blood and gore
of things once men, there's none of the stationary cave life of
the trenches. We have good bunks, good food, comfortable
quarters. In a way it's a remarkable existence, mixing hours
of idleness and moments of intense danger. Removed from war
in its horror, it's still an integral part of it. Frequently our
machines don't come back — but death has no disgusting nau-
seating effects, for the plane falls far from here, and life goes on
as before. I believe it 's the nicest part of the war, the life is very
pleasant, and there's an element of sport in it. It's clean in life,
and death. One could not ask for more than that in war times.
^^^len my duty here will be over I don't know, however, as soon
as the 1st, to which I am attached, has its machines, I reckon.
Six months have gone by, with new experiences and varied life.
My baptism of fire — in trench and in the air — is a thing of the
past. First fears are gone, my real duty has gotten under way.
Needless to say I am no end happy. One's part in the war is
so small at best that you have to keep right at it in order to
make a showing at all commensurate with your own hopes.
It has been the sort of warm spring that brings thoughts of
Cambridge, of a good paddle on the river, a cold shower and a
chocolate milk (what I would give for one at the College Phar-
macy right now) afterwards, and a quiet evening in my room,
or at Wellesley, — the abode of my dear wife. Sounds funny,
does n't it, sir, but I married the sweetest girl just before I left,
and I 'm forced to write you of it in my great happiness thereof.
How is Cambridge.'* Do chaps still seek the light in upper
Hollis on Monday nights — or have you changed the evening?
The regiment — is it flourishing in high and martial style? Oh !
there 's just one trouble with France — it 's too silly far from
home and old times. The Tommy, the poilu, the Jock get home
once in four months for a fortnight. Were that so with us, I'd
be serenely happy. As it is I am anyway — which is not quite
logical — but true withal.
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
May 31, 1918 {at night).
When last I wrote you the moon was almost translucent in a
cold clear sky; tonight it seems tinged with the blood of men
and mellowed with the endless succession of years. Api)le
blossoms are on the trees, the air is soft and soothing, and below
in the valley at our feet the Meuse is running quietly along;
which means that winter has slipped by, and summer has come.
Again I wish you could be here — not to be in the midst of an
air-raid tonight, but to enjoy the beauty of this spot. Were
it not for the faint rumbling of cannons in the distance you
would imagine that ours was a hunting lodge in the Maine woods.
For our huts are lost in a tiny batch of fir-trees on the upper
slope of a hill; below is the river, and across the valley a typical
tiny French village.
It's hard to reconcile such peaceful rural scenes with war —
somehow cows browsing by the side of a stream, the fragrance
of apple blossoms in the air, and the clear notes of church-bells
are in no way connected with the general notion of war. Yet one
has but to tramp over the hill and see the tiny black crosses on
the planes (which denote Hun bullet holes, or shrapnel from
"Archies ") ; or amble along the country road and watch French
and American troops resting from their turn in the trenches;
or cut cross the field to the hospital to realize that war has left
its marks here as in all places.
That is the one big thing Great Britain and the United States
will never have to contend with — simply because Germany will
never be able to reach their lands — and because France has had
to put up with that for so long a man's heart very readily goes
out in sympathy for the country people of France. How hard
it must have been for them to see the places they were born in,
and had lived in and loved, shattered and destroyed. Why ! the
civilians of France, the peasant women in the countless little
towns are nothing short of heroes. There's only one solution,
one remedy, one sedative. Regardless of all errors we may make,
regardless of the quickly passing time, regardless of all political
93
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
and industrial obstacles, we mvst gather together the men and
material with which to carry the war into German territory. For
just as British and American civilians are in a comparatively
safe position, so are the civilians of hated Germany. And it is
a regrettable fact that the temper of the people at home is the
biggest influence on that of those at the front. United States
has the resources — and for once we must tap them without
mourning over the cost; seeing only the results that are to
come.
Copey, there are so many things that seem queer and inex-
plicable— but it's neither loyal nor opportune to criticize! I
only hope the men in whose hands the industries and prepara-
tions lie realize that the lives of the men at the front are de-
pendent directly upon them, that red tape and petty differences
back home are identical to the stabs of the Hun bayonets and
the burst of Hun shells to the man at the front — in the trenches,
at the batteries, or in the air. Men with imagination realize
that — here 's hoping those chaps who work and act solely by
precedent are soon gotten rid of!
This old war is the most gigantic business proposition that
ever came along. And obviously the more efiiciently it's run
the less human sorrow will come from it ; and greatly fewer will
be the broken hearts. Coordination and cooperation — com-
plete and to the fullest extent sincere and persistent — are what
we need. Until we get that France will continue to see her
towns crumpled to stark walls, men of the Allies will die in
agony — and the Hun will ring his damned '" Austerglochen"
in token of supposed victories. The Hun may have made some
strategical and tactical gains, but he's never won a victory, for
victories don't come until hearts and wills are broken and the
last drop of blood has been drained. That he has never ac-
complished in any way. The French, soldier and peasant alike,
are undaunted. The British are hurling the Huns back and
dying in their tracks like the men they are — and thank God
we've come at last, with all the ardor of youth and faith in the
94
KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
right of our cause to put our links into the chain that must never
be broken,
I wish I knew of much to write you — of the progress of the
war, of our troops, or of many failures. But, unfortunately, as
the French say, when you are in the country far from anyone
save your brother officers "on ne sait pas grande chose de la
guerre" You 've probably heard that Doug Campbell has gotten
two Boches already. From every indication he's going to be
one of the best men we '11 ever have in that end of flying — just
as he was one of the most genuine men who ever went through
Cambridge. Harvard has its "sons" all over France — indeed
six of us (officers in my squadron) have started a Harvard Club
of O . You can imagine how greatly the village is honored
when you consider that it has just about thirty closely packed
stone shacks, and two rather common cafes — where you can
buy very good champagne, and very poor beer.
Perhaps you know some of the men. First and foremost is
Steve Noyes — (he 's an old-timer and a prince of a chap) who
is a pilot; a youngster named Hughes, of '18; another compara-
tively old-timer named Hopkins; and Jocelyn of '16, and my-
self. Billy Emerson, '16, was the sixth — but I regret to tell
you that last taps were sounded for him last week. We do not
know whether the "antis" got him, or whether it was a Boche
plane. He went out on a reglage and was shot down in our lines.
He was an honor to Harvard, a gentleman and a soldier, — the
first of our little club to gain the one glorious epitaph.
Perhaps you 'd like to hear of Major Luf bery 's funeral — you
doubtless know that he was shot down, and fell from his burning
plane into a courtyard. He had done a great deal in uniting
the French and Americans, — he was the greatest of our air-
men and seventh on the list of French aces, — he had all the
qualities of a soldier, audacity, utter fearlessness, persistency,
and tremendous skill, — in every way, sir, he was a valuable man.
As we marched to his interment the sun was just sinking be-
hind the mountain that rises so abruptly in front of T ; the
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
sky was a faultless blue, and the air was heavy with the scent
of the blossoms on the trees in the surrounding fields. An Ameri-
can and French general led the procession, following close on
to a band which played the funeral march and "Nearer, my God,
to Thee" in so beautiful a way that I for one could hardly keep
my eyes dry. Then followed the officers of his squadron and of
my own — and after us an assorted group of Frenchmen famous
in the stories of this war, American officers of high rank, and
two American companies of infantry, separated by a French one.
How slowly we seemed to march as we went to his grave,
passing before crowds of American nurses in their clean white
uniforms, and a throng of patients and French civilians! He
was given a full military burial; with the salutes of the firing
squad, and the two repetitions of taps, one answering the other
from the west. General E made a brief address, one of the
finest talks I have ever heard any man give — while throughout
all the ceremony French and American planes circled the field.
In all my life I have never heard taps blown so beautifully as on
that afternoon — even some of the officers joined the women
there in quietly dabbing at their eyes with white handkerchiefs.
France and United States had truly assembled to pay a last
tribute to one of their soldiers. My only prayer is that somehow
through some means I can do as much as he for my country be-
fore I too wander west — if in that direction I am to travel.
As for myself, sir — I left the French front about six weeks
ago and joined the First Aero — going with it to the so-called
American front. Our sector is comparatively quiet, and life goes
on as usual. My squadron is an observation one — we direct
our artillery fire (and I 'm glad to tell you that our artillery has
knocked the stuffings out of several Boche batteries) ; we work
with the infantry, and photograph the enemy positions. It's
useful work and quite interesting. Every man in the outfit is
praying that the morrow will bring orders sending us up to the
Somme for work in the new offensive which the Huns will doubt-
less begin in short order. But there's no place on earth like the
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
army for rumors and unexpected happenings — so in the mean-
time we 're doing our best here.
When important things begin to happen I shall write to you
at once, and not feel then that perhaps my notes are not overly
interesting^ — and if you don't mind I would like to let my
thoughts smear themselves on paper quite often — so please
bear up under the threat of my intentions. Just now my lantern
is warning me to blow her (or "him" as the English say) out
so I reckon it '11 have to be good night, sir — for this time.
On the day after that letter was written, on the very
day that its envelope containing Ciilbert's prophetic allu-
sion to "travelling west," was postmarked, he met the
death awaiting an aviator. The words of his friend, Russell
Fry, may best be used again, this time to relate the cir-
cumstances of Culbert's death, and to suggest the im-
pression stamped by his character upon those who knew it
best:
. . . About five o'clock on the afternoon of May 22, 1918,
while flying over the lines near St. Mihiel, the plane, apparently
struck by a German anti-aircraft shell, became immanageable
and crashed just behind our lines, the pilot being killed in-
stantaneously and Culbert rendered unconscious.
He was taken at once to the American hospital at Sebastopol
Farm, just north of Toul, where he died at midnight without
having regained consciousness. And there he was buried, his
body being moved later to the American cemetery at Thiau-
court.
His life had been spent in the great out-door world, leaving
him as free from the affectations of conventionalized man as the
great seas which shattered themselves against that jMaine island,
his summer home. His was an essentially elemental character,
— honest, upright, unafraid; quick to applaud another's ac-
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KENNETH PICKENS CULBERT
complishments, equally quick to condemn his shortcomings.
And as his life was fearless, vigorous, unselfish, — so, too, was
his death.
The posthumous award of the Croix de Guerre mentioned
in the earlier quotation from the 1917 Triennial Report
was made, in a General Order of the Army, in the follow-
ing terms:
Jeune officier d'un grand cceur, animS du plus pur sentiment du
devoir, ay ant fait preuve au cours de plusieurs reconnaissances sur
Vennemi de sang-froid, de courage, et de decision. Blesse mor-
tellement le 22 Mai, 1918.
98
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
Class of 1917
W ILLIAM St. Agnan Stearns bore the name of his
grandfather, a member of the Harvard Class of 1841, a
resident of Salem, where he lived in the house built by
his grandfather, Joseph Sprague, in the eighteenth century.
His son, the late Richard Sprague Stearns, and Carrie
(Gill) Stearns, now of Boston, were the parents of William
99
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
St. Agnan Stearns, who was born in Eastbourne, England,
September 12, 1895. An older brother was George Gill
Stearns, '09, who enlisted, September, 1914, in the Cana-
dian Army; a younger, Richard Sprague Stearns, Jr., '20.
William Stearns made his preparation for college at
Noble and Greenough's School in Boston, and entered
Harvard with the Class of 1917. He joined the Institute
of 1770, D. K. E., Hasty Pudding, and Fox Clubs. In
his sophomore year he was a member of the LTniversity
Rifle Team, of which he was captain in his junior and
senior years. In the summer vacation of his sophomore
year, 1915, he attended the Plattsburg camp.
Promptly upon the entrance of the LTnited States into
the war, he enlisted as a private, first class, in the Aviation
Section of the Signal Corps, and in May, 1917, began his
training in the ground school at the Massachusetts In-
stitute of Technology. On July 10, he was transferred to
Mineola, New York; on August 11, he qualified as a
Reserve Military Aviator, and was detailed to the ground
school at Kelly Field, Texas. He sailed for France, No-
vember 1, and was detailed first to the Third Aviation
Instruction Centre at Issoudun, and later to the Bombing
School, Seventh Aviation Instruction Centre, at Clermont-
Ferrand. In January he received his commission as first
lieutenant. Aviation Section, Signal Corps, and was ap-
pointed instructor at the Clermont-Ferrand school. Here
he met his death in an airplane accident, May 25, 1918.
Such are the bare facts of Stearns's military record. The
following passage from a letter written by a f ellow-av iator.
Captain W^alker M. Ellis, of the Princeton Class of 1915,
who spent the academic years of 1915-17 at the Harvard
100
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
Law School, and took the Harvard degree of LL.B. in
1919, provides the personal detail which will recall the
man himself, and relates the manner of his untimely
death.
I knew him first at Ground School, where we were both in the
first Squadron at Boston Tech, and was immediately attracted
to him by his quiet reserve, his evident breeding, and the fact,
which his every action indicated, of his being an altogether
charming gentleman. . . .
He, as you know, went to Mineola, and I to France. Some-
time near the end of November he passed through Tours, where
I was still under training, but he stayed only a day and proceeded
to Issoudun for his advanced training on Nieuports. December
found me at Clermont as officer in charge of training, and I be-
lieve it was about the end of February that Bill arrived to take
the bombing course. He went through the course in about six
weeks, and did exceptionally well. Everyone liked him — how
could they help it? I remember him so well in his flying clothes.
The helmet accentuated his naturally fine profile, and he really
was a stunning thing to look at. His shapely, curly head — I
can see it now.
Coming home from a cross-country trip one day, his motor
stopped just a short distance from the field, and he made a most
difficult and most beautiful forced landing in a tiny field. The
ship was entirely unhurt, and after the wrecking crew had rolled
it into another field whence it was possible to take ofi", he insisted
on flying it back to the home aerodrome himself, which he did.
The whole episode showed such ability, judgment, and spirit
that I determined to hold him at Clermont as an instructor,
though much against his personal wishes. He was, as were all
of us, mad to get to the front. I remember thinking at the time
how pleased his mother would be, for while there is bound to be
a certain amount of danger in flying, one is generally considered
disgustingly safe in school work compared to the front.
101
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
Though he did n't like it, he accepted his assignment cheer-
fully and did splendidly as an instructor. Almost all of the
students we received were boys with lots of flying time, but who
had never flown the Breguet machine which was used at Cler-
mont; and a part of his job was as double-control instructor on
this machine. I can promise you that he had a very happy
time with us. We had a small but awfully congenial crowd of
twelve or fourteen boys on the instruction staff. All of us knew
all phases of the work, and no one had any fixed job. We worked
in any capacity in which we were needed. Bill would be doing
double-control one day, and the next might be in charge of a
cross-country class, assigning ships to the various crews, seeing
that they got off all right, and checking them on their return.
We soon grew to have absolute confidence in him. He was above
all things reliable. He never did any spectacular flying, but
every movement in the air was perfect, and he knew what he
was doing every instant of the time.
Meanwhile, there were little dinner parties in Clermont once
or twice a week, and sometimes a more pretentious week-end
staged at Royat, a little watering-town in the mountains nearby
— or at Vichy, perhaps, some twenty miles distant. Bill had
his share of the good times, but always with that same quiet
reserve — even in hilarity. . . .
Then Spencer Brainard, who was our chief pilot, went to
Tours for a week or ten days. He had charge of testing all
planes which had been repaired and of reassigning them for
flying. It was the most important position in the school, and
Bill was put in to fill his place during his absence. There are
two types of Breguet machines — one with a Renault motor,
of which we had only ten, and which are much more powerful
than those mounted with a Fiat motor, which were what we
used in training. Bill went up on Friday in one of the Renault
machines, and, delighted with the excess power, he did some
beautiful but rather hazardous flying. I think it made him just
a bit overconfident. The next day there were two or three
102
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
Fiats which had just come from the repair shop and were ready
for testing. Regular school flying stopped between ten in the
morning and three in the afternoon. I went to town for lunch
with a visiting officer. On our way out we saw a bad wreck
lying in one of the fields just about half a mile from the school.
I knew it could only be Bill, as he alone was in a position au-
thorizing him to fly between ten and three. We ran over, hoping
against hope that nothing fatal had happened, but got there
just as they were lifting him from the wreckage. He was killed
instantly, — a broken piece of the fuselage penetrated the brain
just behind his right ear. It is just as well that it happened so,
for his other injuries were so universal and serious that he could
not possibly have lived more than an hour or two — - as was the
case of the poor mechanic with him.
It seems that he had taken up one of the Fiats for testing,
and had flown much as he did the day before in the Renault.
I think he over judged its power to pull itself out of awkward
positions. The immediate cause of the trouble was a vertical
bank at about 2,000 feet, during which the nose of the machine
fell, which resulted in a tail-spin, or vrille, as the French call
them. No one had ever spun one of these ships, and the only
conclusion we could arrive at was that once in a tail-spin, it was
impossible to get them out, for he had plenty of altitude and
from an inspection of the plane it was evident that he had not
lost his head for an instant. He had cut his switch, turned off
his gasoline, and closed his throttle — exactly the proper things
to have done in such an emergency. Those who saw the fall
say that the ship made several turns in the spin, but at no time
gave any evidence of coming out of it. It struck the ground
head on and at terrific speed.
No other accident ever did or will affect me as that one did
— and I have seen a great many. He was such a dear boy!
and he represented the very best in young American manhood.
One does n't realize until one gets into the army how few charm-
ing people there are in the world. I had made it a rule after
103
WILLIAM ST. AGNAN STEARNS
any accident to fly immediately myself just for the moral effect
on the students, and the hardest thing I have ever had to do was
that flight after leaving him at the little camp hospital.
We draped his casket in American flags, and an oflficers' guard
of honor was with him from the moment of his death until he
was buried Sunday afternoon at four o'clock on the side of an
old hill some five miles from camp. There were many beautiful
flowers, but the ones that pleased me most were innumerable
little posies of spring blossoms, gathered and brought by the
kind old peasants of the neighborhood. The services were ab-
solutely simple, and for that reason beautiful. The six ofiicers
most intimate with him, including myself, carried him, and the
whole personnel of the school did him honor. . . .
He has become part of the greatest tradition the world has
known since Christ, of the highest, most glorious comradeship
of spirits that ever foregathered in youth. I am reminded of a
question of Stevenson's — "Does not life go down with better
grace in full foam over the cataract, than straggling to an end
in sandy deltas? " Bill went down just that way. He gave his
life with a fine, free gesture in the hot flush of youthful idealism
— whence spring all noble thoughts and pregnant visions.
I have known so many, many boys who have gone that way.
Do you know that of the ten from that flrst Squadron who went
immediately to France only three of us are left, and only ten
of the original twenty-three who were at Tech together?
104
HENRY WARE CLARKE
Class of 1916
J. HERE is an anecdote of Henry Clarke's boyhood which
has a bearing upon his adult character. It is told that his
mother, in the interest of the bodily safety of the small
boys of the neighborhood, once forbade their sliding down
the front steps of the Clarkes' house. Her son came in and
told her that the boys had been calling her names.
105
•I
HENRY WARE CLARKE
hope you stood up for me, Henry," she said. "Yes," he
repHed, "I stood up for you, but I did n't say anything."
Carrying the spirit of this speech into the war, he repre-
sented the best type of American soldier.
He was born in Chicago, November 19, 1893, the son of
Charles Atherton Clarke and Georgiana (Whiting) Clarke,
who have lived in Newton, Massachusetts, since this son
was two years old. The grandfather, Henry W^are Clarke,
for whom he was named, was the son of the Rev. Robert
Clarke, a Unitarian minister of Princeton and Uxbridge,
Massachusetts, who named his only son for his friend and
colleague, Henry Ware (Harvard, 1812). The first Ameri-
can Clarke of his family, Robert Clarke, settled in Lon-
donderry, New Hampshire, in 1725. His mother's first
American ancestor, the Rev. Samuel W^hiting, came in
1636 to the Massachusetts town which in 1630 was incor-
porated as Saugus, but in 1687, in compliment to the new
minister, from Lynn in England, was re-named Lynn.
Through many later generations, the Whiting family lived
in Charlestown, Massachusetts.
Henry Clarke attended the grammar and high schools
of Newton, and, for one term, the Stone School, in Boston.
He entered college with the Class of 1916, and in due
course, though showing a special interest in the study of
literature and theology, took the degree of Bachelor of
Science. In the Memorial Report of his class one of his
friends has written of him: "His quiet, frank, and pleas-
ant manner with his quaint humor made him a charming
friend and companion. These traits that made him a
favorite among his circle of college friends, together with
a strong sense of duty, high ideals, and steadfast courage,
106
HENRY WARE CLARKE
made him a leader who won the respect and affection of
the men and officers of his command." Again the youth
foretold the man.
In the summer of his graduation he attended the Busi-
ness Men's Training Camp at Piatt sburg, and in the au-
tumn went into business with his father in the Universal
Boring Machine Company at Hudson, Massachusetts.
Here he showed ability and aptitude, but when the United
States entered the war, he volunteered for the First Officers'
Training Camp at Plattsburg, where he was attached to
the New England Regiment, first in the 11th, then in the
2d Company. On August 15 he received his commission
as second lieutenant, O. R. C, infantry. Volunteering
immediately for service overseas, he was one of the first
nineteen Reserve Officers chosen for this duty, and, sail-
ing early in September, reached France before the month
was out.
On October 10, Clarke was assigned to the British Army
for a few weeks of training at a bayonet school, where he
also received instruction in Swedish gymnastics. This
took him into the forward area near Lens. In one of his
letters home he wrote:
Have been here a week now and am having a fine time. The
food is very good and the work is interesting. The only thing
wrong is the cold, and you get used to that. We work all day
in running suits, shoes, and puttees. When it is very cold, we
wear sweaters, but that does n't help your knees. We have had
visits from a lot of generals, among them one of our own. One
English general gave us a talk which was very interesting. He
started in the war as a company commander and he told us some
fimny stories of his experiences. One time his company was
doing some hard fighting in the vicinity of a canal. He got a
107
HENRY WARE CLARKE
telegram from Brigade Headquarters asking if he could assign
any reason for the sudden fall in the level of the canal. As he
was busy thinking of other things, he replied that he could only
attribute it to the extraordinary thirst of the fishes.
When this experience was ended he wrote, November 4 :
The British gave us a trip up to the front line. I was in the
front line five days, and in all that time got only ten hours'
sleep. When we all reassembled, everybody told all the exciting
things that had happened. The fellow who could tell the biggest
lie was the best man. I did my best, but was soon out-classed.
In November he was assigned to the 16th Infantry,
First Division, A. E. F., and to this unit of the Regular
Army he belonged until he was killed. Early in November
he served in the first line trenches at Luneville. On No-
vember '28, at Joire, he was appointed assistant judge
advocate by Major General Sibert, and in March and
April of 1918 took a course in machine gunnery at an
American machine gun school in France. His letters
through all this period, broken by a seven-days leave at
Evian-les-Bains, where his sister was serving as nurses'
aide in the children's hospital, picture a happy, hard-
working existence, in a manner c^uite innocent of heroics.
In February he wrote: "The censor has at last allowed
us to write home that we are in the line, which you prob-
ably knew long ago. It is not half so bad as it is cracked
up to be. Sometimes, if you have an ambitious striker and
get a good dug-out, you live like a prince. The only
trouble is they do all their fighting at night. This is one
place where I find my college education a blessing. Please
keep on sending magazines, also cigarettes. Don't worry
108
HENRY WARE CLARKE
about mail — any I don't get somebody else will." And
on February 26: "Have read all the books Helen sent
with much interest. She wanted to know what kind to
send. Sentimental novels are the best; the more senti-
mental the better. This is not only my opinion, but every-
body's else." From the gunnery school he writes of a
"fellow from Yale" in whose company he took much
pleasure. Passages from three letters in the last month of
his life are illuminating:
May 12, 1918.
Spring is certainly with us now, in France. The trees are out,
the country is green, and it is warm. Everybody is much hap-
pier now, even with the German offensive. We have baseball
games, play quoits, etc., and have a pretty good time — that is,
we do now, for we are back. We had a pretty interesting time
today. A French bombing plane came over the towm we were
in, and it showed signs of having engine trouble. That was all
right, but all of a sudden it dropped a bomb which landed fairly
close. That rather made us doubt its identity, and so when it
landed in a nearby field, we hot-footed it over, half expecting
to capture a couple of Bodies. The aviators were French, how-
ever, and had dropped the bombs because they did n't want
them hanging on the machine in case they made a poor landing.
We had a good look at the plane and the machine guns, which,
of course, were interesting to us. Did I tell you that I had two
days in Paris on the way back from school? Paris one day and
the trenches the next was what really happened to us; and they
were some trenches, but we are out of them now.
The Germans are taking a lot of punishment now. Some of
of them are feeling pretty sick. The Americans have n't had a
picnic in this sector, but it's not as bad as we expected. You
don't read about us in the newspapers, but we are in the real
sector where there is action. Others get the notoriety, but the
Regular Army is still on the job.
109
HENRY WARE CLARKE
May 16, 1918.
Today is Mother's Day, and I celebrated by collecting beau-
coup mail that has accumulated for me. At present, I am in a
large woodcutting detail. We are cutting stakes for wire en-
tanglements. It is pretty interesting because we are located
back in a wood that is filled with artillery. Living here for a
few days shows you what is going on behind the lines. The most
interesting part of the war in many ways is the work of transpor-
tation. And it is dangerous. At night the German artillery
opens up on the roads leading to the front and to the dumps.
Over these roads the ration and ammunition wagons have to go,
and it's no fun. You can't blame mule drivers for swearing
when you see what they have to go through. We had some fun
today with a couple of officers we had down to see us. There
is an ammunition dump a couple of hundred yards from our
camp, and the German howitzers are working on it pretty
steady. You can hear the shells coming, and they make a
frightful noise. After the first one came over, we had to send
a searching party out to find our friends. We are used to it —
and have great confidence in the accuracy of the Boche gunners.
There is a persistent rumor around that the 1st Division is
going home soon. They even say that there is a sign on the
Statue of Liberty saying, "Welcome home, 1st Division." I
am used to rumors now, however.
May 26, 1918.
The weather is hot over here now, and we have had no rain
for ten days. This is such a remarkable drought that some of
the wells are drying up. I got a whole sack full of mail yester-
day, some of which was meant to have reached me on Christmas.
We are billeted in the smallest town I have every been in. It
is composed of three farms. Nevertheless, it has a name, and
is on the map. It is a good place to be because the German
bombing planes pass it up and go after the more pretentious
burgs. We lie in our tent at night, and hear them going by, and
pretty soon the bombs begin to drop on all sides. The place is
110
HENRY WARE CLARKE
shy of good billets, but we don't complain, although lately we
have been disturbed by having bullets intended for the planes
dropping around us. We moved our tent under a brick wall so
now all is well.
On May 28, two days after writing the letter just quoted,
he was killed during the first counter attack of the Germans
after the American capture of Cantigny. An eye-witness
of his death, Lieutenant Joseph Connor, reported: "He
was commanding a platoon of machine guns, and putting
on indirect fire during the attack, and he had not been
firing more than three minutes when a Boche 155 shell
exploded near him. The shrapnel shattered his knee,
and one piece went through his head just above the eye.
He was killed instantly, and there was a smile on his face
when we carried him out."
Clarke w^as buried at Bonvilliers, near Cantigny. On
December 23, 1921, his body was reinterred at Mt.
Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge. The official recognition
of his valor was expressed in the following citation:
Headquarters First Division
General Orders No. 1. January 1, 1920.
The Division Commander
cites for gallantry in action
and especially meritorious services
2d Lieutenant Henry W. Clarke, M. G. Co., 16th Inf.
who was killed in action
near Cantigny, France, May 28, 1918.
By command of
Major General Suivevierall.
His fellow-officers wrote of him to his father as their
"beloved friend and comrade." One of them, the "fellow
111
HENRY WARE CLARKE
from Yale" to whom allusion has already been made, was
himself killed in action on October 9, 1918. Three months
before his death he wrote to Clarke's sister:
July 9, 1918.
My dear Miss Clarke:
Your brother was the first officer whom I met when I joined
the Company last December. I was assigned to his billet, and
well remember that night. I had spent two sleepless nights on
a train that barely crept along, and it was very cold, as the win-
dows in the compartments had all been broken.
When I arrived at the little village where the Company was
billeted, I was pretty tired and despondent, but I was surely
lucky in having your brother for a room-mate. He did every-
thing that he could possibly do to make me comfortable and at
home. Since then, we were together almost constantly, and I
cannot begin to tell you how many good times we had together.
He was the very best kind of a friend a man could have. Many
a night we sat before an open fire, smoking our pipes and talk-
ing until it was far into the night. And what discussions and
arguments we used to have. One night it would be religion,
and on another literature, or we would argue mightily on so-
ciology. It used to be a regular Harvard-Yale debate; and
Harvard would generally win, though, of course, Yale seldom
acknowledged it.
Late in April, we received orders to go to a machine gun
school, and there had bunks opposite each other. The machine
gun work came very easily to Henry, but I was always in trouble,
and if it had not been for him, I would never have gotten through
the course. He was always only too ready and willing to help
me out, though I was forever pestering him with questions. In
the afternoons, just after school had finished for the day, we
used to walk down to a village where we often had supper. We
were both very fond of omelet, jelly, and chocolate, and that
became an institution with us, though when we had but recently
cashed our pay vouchers we had more elaborate repasts. When
112
HENRY WARE CLARKE
the more than welcome boxes came from home, we always shared
each other's, whether it was cigars, magazines, or candy.
Never have I met with a more even, frank, and generous
disposition than your brother's. He never became ruffled or
impatient, and was at all times kind and considerate of others.
Officers and men loved and respected him alike. Perhaps I
knew him as well if not better than anyone in the Company,
and so I know how very fortunate I was to have been his
friend. . . .
Most sincerely,
Stanley Young.
113
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
Class of 1916
When Haydock had been less than two months in
France he wrote home to his mother: "I am afraid thee
may think from this letter that I am trying to pretend
that I am a fire-eater, but as a matter of fact I am just
as peace-loving as ever and will be more than thankful to
get home at the first opportunity. It is rotten business,
but I hope before this you have gotten into the same
frame of mind I have, and let nothing worry you." These
are typical words of the "fighting Quaker" — one who,
having conquered an inborn repugnance to war, through
coming to see that by its means evil worse than itself must
be destroyed, can throw himself into it with all the greater
force. Such a soldier was George Guest Haydock.
114
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
He was born, of Quaker ancestry, in Germantown,
Pennsylvania, September 15, 1894, the son of Robert
Roger Haydock and Annie Louise (Heywood) Haydock,
now of Milton, Massachusetts. He received his earlier
schooling at the Friends' School in Germantown, and in
the autumn of 1909 entered Middlesex School, Concord,
Massachusetts, from which he graduated in 1912. There,
besides playing on the football and baseball teams, he
entered heartily into the various interests of the place,
and greatly endeared himself both to masters and to boys.
At Harvard, from which he graduated with the Class
of 1916, he devoted himself with special interest to studies
in English. In athletics he made an excellent record as
a member of his freshman track team, and of the Varsity
track team in his junior and senior years. At the Yale-
Harvard meet of 1916, he tied for first place in the pole
vault at 12 feet, 6 inches — a fitting achievement for the
boy of whom a Philadelphia friend wrote in reminiscence,
after his death, to his parents: "I can't think of your
house without George practising pole-vaults in front of
the stable for hours at a time, very patiently and very
determinedly, and all by himself." In his senior year
also he entered a four-months' competition in field events,
and at the end of it came out the winner of three cups,
for broad jump, high jump, and pole-vault, the largest
number awarded to any individual. He was a member
of the Institute of 1770, D. K. E., Varsity, Hasty Pud-
ding, Iroquois, and Fly Clubs, of the last of which he was
president in 1915-16.
Through the Harvard Regiment he received his first
military training. In the summer of his graduation, 1916,
115
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
he attended the Cth Training Camp at Phittsburg, and in
the autumn entered Sutton's Mills, a woollen factory
of The Russell Company, at North Andover, Massachu-
setts. Beginning as a "picker" he worked through several
departments of the mills, until there was need of him in
the office. Of the impression he made upon his associates
during this brief experience there is a record in The Russell
Company Bulletin for August, 1918: "Throughout the
Mill, he was well-known, and much liked by the employees
with whom he came in contact, and in the office, where his
training and ability were especially appreciated, he was
looked upon as a hard worker and a student of the business,
and was loved as a true friend. He was a man of reserved
and quiet nature, and one whom we looked forward to
having with us again at the termination of the war."
When the United States joined the Allies, he resigned his
position with The Russell Company and enlisted in the
Army at Boston, April 28, 1917, and on May 11 went to
the First Officers' Training Camp at Plattsburg. Here
he was enrolled in Company 6 of the First Provisional
Training Regiment, and on August 15 received his com-
mission as first lieutenant, infantry, O. R. C. On August
29 he reported at Hoboken, New Jersey, for overseas serv-
ice, and on September 8 sailed, unattached, for England
on the Orduna. Landing at Liverpool, proceeding to
Southampton, he reached Havre, September 26, and after
a few days at a rest camp was ordered to the Infantry
School of the Fifth British Army at Toutencourt, near
Amiens, for a month's training, at the end of which he had
a brief tour in the first-line trenches at the British front
north of Quesnoy and east of Peronne. On November 14
116
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
he reported at Treveray, in the Gondrecoiirt training area
of the A. E. F., and was assigned as first lieutenant to L
Company, 28th Infantry, 2d Brigade, 1st Division. With
this unit he remained until his death.
Haydock's many letters to his family mingled the serious
and the light-hearted in characteristic fashion. As he
neared England he wrote, September 22: "The coast of
Ireland is splendid, all covered with harps and shamrocks,
just as I always thought it would be." In a letter from a
Harvard comrade (W. O. P. Morgan, '18) there is a
typical glimpse of him on his way to the British training
school at Toutencourt. ''I remember in particular,"
wrote this friend, "one large switch-yard where we stopped
for the afternoon and had our first game of soccer with
the English officers. I remember so well standing on the
platform with George and seeing a battalion of ' Tommies '
leave for 'the front,' the mysterious place which neither
of us could imagine in vaguest detail; to hear them sing-
ing and joking was beyond us. I thought of our rather
shocked sensations at that time when the following May
I heard George's regiment hilariously singing on their way
up to Cantigny, the first Americans to attack." With the
British, Haydock learned, among other things, to accus-
tom himself to the personal ministrations of a servant.
"I now have a very sporty cane," he wrote, October 10,
"and a long, white cigarette holder, so when I wear my
'Sam Browne,' which is now beautifully polished by my
'fellow,' I am some candy kid. Think of me with a serv-
ant!" Again on October 21 he wrote:
It is queer how everything here seems perfectly natural,
when as a matter of fact it is totally different from anything I
117
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
have ever done before : we just follow along with the crowd and
think nothing about it. I live in a school room, and sleep on a
bed with chicken wire for a spring; the only hot water I get is
a mugful for shaving, which my servant heats up for me, I am
afraid he will spoil me. He gets everything ready for me in the
morning and then wakes me up; he always knows just what
clothes I will need and tells me just how cold it is, but I think
I can judge that better than he can. When I come out from
breakfast, Thorpe is waiting with my equipment, and helps
me put it on; quite a change from working in the picker room
in the mill at Andover. I pay him twenty francs a month, about
$3.50 now, and he thinks it is a "cushy" job. Every British
officer has a servant as part of his equipment, and they follow
him wherever he goes; when he goes over his servant goes with
him and acts as runner. They claim a servant is indispensable,
and I am beginning to think they are right, though it does n't
seem to fit exactly with American ideas.
But the hard work he was doing interested him as much
as the social customs of the British Army — including tea
and dinners graphically described — and when his course
was over, he wrote, November 16, two days after joining
the 28th Infantry:
From the time I left the school until I arrived here I had
several new and rather thrilling experiences. We were sent for
four days to the English front and enjoyed a few new sensations
which I think made quite an impression on our young and un-
initiated brains. To get to the lines we passed through miles
and miles of war- wasted country that is like nothing on earth;
it looks as though there had been an earthquake there. We saw
towns where there was not a single building with a roof or more
than two walls, and in many cases not even that : they had been
the battle-ground of some of the hardest fighting in history,
and only the main streets had been cleaned up. When we got
118
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
to the lines, we were received with open arms, and I think the
English were really glad to see us, because, as they said, it must
have been a relief to them to see someone to whom the war was
new. I spent three nights in the front lines, and although it
was in what they call a quiet sector, there were quite enough
shells, etc., flying around to suit one, considering that it was my
first time under fire. It was a strange sensation, but did not
frighten me in the least; but it was a bit hard to realize what
it all meant. It is a most peculiar sort of life, really two days
in each twenty-four hours. It was pretty quiet through the
day, unless the Hun had a mind to do a little strafing, which he
usually did in the morning. The Major would find out where the
show was going on, and then we would go a different way. We
would go the rounds in the morning, sleep in the afternoon, go
in again after dark, and to bed at two or three. The lines are
a wonderful sight at night, as there are veri lights going up
about once a minute, and they make a blinding light. If you
are in an exposed position when one goes up, you simply stand
motionless until it burns out; otherwise you thank him for keep-
ing you from going through a hole in the duck-boards and up to
your knees in mud. At one place we were only seventy yards
from the Boche line, and it was damned exciting trying to find
a patrol that they thought was out. I did not have my clothes
off for five days, all but one of which were rainy, and had only
my slicker and a borrowed blanket to sleep in forty feet under-
ground, with rats and cooties providing the entertainment; so
it felt very good to get back to a bath and my bed-roll.
From November to March, Haydock's regiment had
the training of intensive drill and manoeuvres at Treveray,
St. Amand, Gondrecourt, and other places. Early in
March, under the tactical command of the French, it
entered the front line of the Toul sector, for defensive
work at Seicheprey, and served, in support and reserve.
119
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
for a month. In Haydock's letters the various aspects
of his life at this time are clearly reflected. The following
passages are typical :
December 7.
I don't remember just when I wrote last, but I will try and
tell you some of the things we have been doing in the last
rather strenuous week. On Monday we spent the day hiking
around the country, but did not prove very much except to get
pretty tired. Just as I was getting into bed an orderly came
around with an order saying that first call would be at 3.30 a.m.,
and that at 4.30 the regiment would move out to receive Gen-
eral Pershing at a place [Gondrecourt] a good, healthy fifteen
miles away; that we would wear overcoats, packs, tin hats,
etc., and otherwise disguise ourselves as Christmas trees. My
opinion of the General immediately dropped considerably, but
there was nothing for it but to climb out and hike. It was a
very cold morning and snowing pretty hard, but we made
almost ten miles before daylight, and then had to stand around
an hour and freeze; we then polished off the other five miles and
waited an hour and a half more, during which time we were
informed that it was the first time since General Sheridan's
time that an American regiment at full war strength had been
reviewed by a sure-enough general, and that on the whole the
28th was pretty hot stuff; but we were sure that 3.30 in the
morning was pretty cold stuff to make up for it. When we got
there, we lined up on either side of the street, and pretty soon
along came Generals Pershing and Bliss, Lord Northcliffe,
Colonel House and several other dignitaries; the regiment
stood at present arms and the officers at salute for at least
fifteen minutes, while they walked through and gave us the
"once-over": by the time they got down to me I was far more
interested in the weight in tons of my right arm than in the ap-
pearance of the reviewing party, although I did look at them out
of the corner of my eye. The best thing about the whole party
was they brought us home in trucks.
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GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
Wednesday I had to lecture to my platoon for four hours and
keep them interested and warm on a very cold day; it was a
good deal of a strain, but I lived through it and kept them fairly
interested by getting off every wild tale I had ever heard. Again
we got orders for 3.30 a.m. and started on manoeuvres for three
days, each day beginning at three-thirty and ending about
three in the afternoon. Of course our Company got the most
work to do. Each day we would hike from ten to fifteen miles
and take up a position; we had to run up and down every hill
in sight, and they are numerous and steep. It was the first time
I had to handle the men alone, and, after being liberally cussed
out, learned a great deal. I am afraid I am naturally too polite
to be a soldier; it is not in me to bawl men out the way it should
be done; but I learned a lot through rather bitter experience,
and am getting a little more brass. I am glad tomorrow is a
holiday because they did their best to walk the legs off us and
keep us working most of the night and day, but we are all good
and tough now.
I had a party arranged for Lou [his sister] for the loth, but
I hear now that all leaves are cancelled, so I shall have to call
it off for a while: we seem to work in bad luck in getting to-
gether. My mail is coming through better now. It is a bonne
war. Love and Happy New Year.
December 23.
Here it has gotten around to Sunday again without my having
a chance to write. We have, as usual, had a very busy week,
ending up with divisional manoeuvres in open warfare. The
first part of the week was taken up with the usual routine drill
and two pretty long hikes on slippery roads. The plan was to
have us go out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday on the big ma-
noeuvre, but it worked out slightly differently. To begin with
I might mention that the climate is much the same as that of
New England; at present everything is frozen up tight, and
we have had enough snow in the last week to make the ground
white. Friday we packed up our bed-rolls and packs, and i)re-
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GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
pared for what might come. Not desiring to lug any more than
necessary, I put most of the things I thought I would want in
my bed-roll, which goes on the wagon. Our battalion was held
in reserve to defend this town, and the result was that we stood
from nine in the morning until six at night, ready to move at a
moment's notice. It was very cold standing in the wind and
doing nothing, beside which we got very little to eat save for a
little bouillon. At six our Company was informed that we
would out-guard our brigade (two regiments) for the night.
That came as a blow, as I had visions of sleeping in my billet.
We had a few minutes to get an egg and piece of ham for supper,
and were then shown what part of the world we had to cover.
I was given about fifty men to cover approximately three miles
on the extreme right flank, and we were told that a brigade of
the enemy had been advancing on us and were occupying the
next town ; so we had to keep our eyes open, and at about seven
o'clock I started out over the hills with my men. We had four
outposts about half a mile apart and connected by visiting
patrols : the ones on either end were near enough shacks to take
advantage of them and build fires that could not be seen; the
other two, however, were in the open and could not have fires.
I had to have my headquarters in the centre, as we were cover-
ing such a large area, and so was out of luck. By about nine
we were established, and I began to think of how I was to spend
the night. We were on a high ridge with the coldest wind I
have ever known blowing about thirty miles an hour straight
on us.
As I had expected to get my bed-roll, my pack contained
one blanket, a towel, a shelter half and my iron ration. The
thermometer must have been about 20°, but it felt much colder.
I found a place where some grass was sticking up through the
snow, and told the men with me (about fifteen) they could settle
there or in a clump of woods near by. I chose the grass, opened
up my pack, and to start with was fairly warm, as I had walked
about five miles to get the sentries posted. It was a beautiful,
122
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
clear, moonlight night, and I smoked my pipe to try to kid my-
self to sleep; and just as I was dozing off the Captain came
around to see my disposition of the troops, and after he left
I slept for about an hour and woke up half frozen; so did the
rounds to inspect the outposts and sat by a fire until I was
thawed out. I did this all night at about two-hour intervals,
and managed to sleep a little between times. At eight-thirty
in the morning, having had no breakfast, I was told to prepare
to act as rear-guard for the brigade when they came through
and in the meantime to cook what we could from our iron ration.
A few minutes later the head of the column started to come
through, so we had to hurry to get anything to eat. We man-
aged to fry a few pieces of bacon and eat some hard-tack, and
were ready to join on the tail, which came through at nine-
thirty. During the night we captured eight enemy cavalry
patrols, but aside from that all was quiet. We formed the rear
point and marched till noon, when the main body halted and
had a few minutes to get a bite to eat before they went into
action. We were just far enough behind to close in on them
in time to take our position in the line and move forward with
the attack which went nearly five miles through woods, over
hills and streams and anything that happened to be in the way.
It developed into a pursuit, so we had to keep going ahead just
as fast as we could hike, till about four, when in all we had gone
about ten miles. The General then decided we had won a
decisive victory (I never saw the enemy), and that we could go
home and have today off. We came straight back in, arriving
here about seven-thirty, not having halted long enough to take
our packs off since nine-thirty in the morning, having been up
most of the night before, and with nothing inside us but three
slices of bacon and one box of hard-tack. I sure was glad to see
my bed, and rolled into it as soon as I got some beans to line
my stomach with. The men went through it all without growl-
ing as much as they do during an ordinary drill, and I think in
all we made a pretty creditable showing. I have been eating
123
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
and sleeping ever since we got back and feel fine, but am mighty
glad we did not have another day of it. Our Company had the
hardest jobs to do, and were the only ones to spend the night
in the open ; they always seem to pick on us.
It is very hard to believe that Christmas is so near, and I
have n't had a chance to get the spirit yet. It makes me
mighty homesick to think of the carols in Boston. Thee said
thee guessed a quiet life would never appeal to me, but as soon
as I strike home it will take more than dynamite to move me,
and that is no joke: a quiet life never seemed so attractive as
it does to all of us here now. We all feel the same way, and
when I come home I am coming to stay, and not even the
charms of North Andover will drag me away.
We are going to have a Christmas party for the orphan kids,
and that with a big dinner (without beans), combined with the
fact that we have no drill, makes it seem like Christmas.
Christmas Day, 1917.
This is indeed a unique Christmas for me, the first one I have
not been with you, but in spite of everything we have managed
to make it seem quite different from the routine days. Yester-
day one of the other officers and I got talking of where we were
a year ago, etc., and decided that it would not be Christmas
without stockings, so we agreed to fill each other's, and after
supper started out to do our shopping. We went around to the
different little stores in the town and bought some sticks of bad
candy, nuts, mandarins, and such little things, and managed to
get quite excited doing it. The bells rang last night, but of
course there were no chimes, and no singing that I could hear;
this little towTi is very poor, not even having an organ in the
church. I slept late this morning, and woke to find that it had
snowed some more and was a real, white Christmas. In my
stocking I found some smoking tobacco, tooth-powder, nuts,
chocolate, chewing gum, cigarette papers, and in the toe as
always, a mandarin. . . ,
124
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
I have just been up to the Christmas party given for the kids
at the Y. M. C. A., where all less than twelve years old were
invited, and they all turned up with their families. The hut
was very nicely fixed up, a great big Christmas tree filling one
end, and the rest decorated with streamers, paper flags, and
anything that could be gotten to add an air of festivity. The
tree was covered with toys and lit up with candles, and there
was a great pile of things under it. M. le Maire was present,
all dressed up like an Easter egg, and as he read the name each
child stepped forward and was given a toy, some candy, and
nuts. The kids' eyes were fairly popping out of their heads, and
they were very cute as they retired laden down with rocking
horses, dolls, or some kind of game. The men enjoyed it as much
as anyone, and I guess it was a better Christmas party than most
of the youngsters had ever seen before. There was also a little
entertainment chiefly provided by a one-lunged piano.
Our eighty year old landlord has just been in, dressed in his
Sunday best, and was much pleased to find our room a little
warm and cheered up by the fact that if he lived long enough
he might inherit the stove for which we paid the large sum of
forty francs.
January 10, 1018.
And still the war goes on. There is not much to write about
unless I tell you of the funeral I managed yesterday. There was
a man of our Company who died on the last manoeuvres from
too much drink, we think, and I was elected to bury him. I was
given a large motor truck, a fatigue squad, and a firing squad,
and told to bury him in some indefinitely located cemetery.
I started out with what paraphernalia I could get together, and
our first stop was for the Chaplain — whom I found, nmch to
my relief, as I fully expected to have to deliver the funeral ora-
tion myself. We then proceeded on our way and found the
cemetery, where it was very cold and snowing hard, and of course
the ground was frozen and difficult to dig; but after about four
hours we were ready, and the Chaplain read the service while
125
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
we all nearly froze and the firing squad were so cold that I
was afraid they would shoot me by mistake. But we finally
did get through without any mishap, though it took all day to
do it.
Today I spent four hours in the morning and two in the
afternoon lecturing to my platoon in a cold, dark billet, and
believe me it was a strain both for the men and for me. If I
have to do it again tomorrow, I think I shall have to read the
Bible to them.
I have had several [Christmas] boxes, also a big bunch of
October and November letters and some pictures, which are
quite the best things I have gotten. It is the most wonderful
thing in the world to get letters, and I have been reading and
re-reading them ever since they came. Do keep it up. Well,
*'bon soir," it is almost seven-thirty, and I must get to bed be-
fore my candle burns out; it is my last. Lots and lots of love.
February 3.
I have just gotten a new job, and am now assistant fire-chief
of the town, and we had a fire drill the other day that was a
perfect scream. L Company is billeted near the fire station, so
we are the company to man the engine in case of fire. The
building in which the engine is quartered has three doors, one
marked "Mairie," the next "Ecole," and the third "Pompe et
Incendie"; and it is the last we are chiefly interested in. We
decided to have a drill, so after some difficulty managed to get
into the fire-house, which was inhabited by a large number of
rabbits, making added complications because their boxes were
arranged so as to make it almost impossible to get the engine
out; also we realized that if any of them got away we would
have to pay huge sums of money, so when I put my section
through drill I detailed one man to fix bayonets and allow no
rabbit to escape, and that was his entire job. The next thing
was to get the engine out. It is an old hand pump made in
1852, mounted on a two-wheeled cart to be pulled by six men
126
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
whom I got, together with one man for each bucket to form
behind, push, and be generally useful.
After getting organized, we decided there was a fire down the
street, so we started lickety-split, everyone yelling and the men
waving the buckets over their heads. It was a regular picnic
for them, and the entire French population turned out to watch.
The hose is made of leather, riveted together, and about one
hundred feet long; the piece that runs from the pump to the
water is about twenty feet long and provided with a basket to
prevent its sucking up mud, etc. When we got to the place we
slid the pump off the truck, and simulated putting it into the
water. At this moment M. le Maire arrived on the scene in a
state of great excitement, saying that it was no fair having fires
in the winter because the engine would freeze; and in fact we
found when we started to work the pump that it was already
frozen. There is no doubt that the department is efficient and
up to date; but there are several drawbacks, one of which is
that there is only one stream running through the town, beside
which there is no other water; so if there is a fire, the building
must be moved without delay to a point within one hundred
feet of the stream. The sentinel guarding the rabbits was the
cause of some priceless remarks by the men.
February 4.
We have been doing some camouflaging, and my platoon
won the "brown derby," so I have decided I am some landscape
gardener. An Irishman who used to be a gardener did most of
the work, and then borrowed twenty francs from me. They are
a funny crowd; I have loaned out over three hundred francs to
men in the Company and none of them have more than twenty.
As soon as pay-day comes around, they pay it back, and then
about a week later borrow some more.
I will write again as soon as I can, so don't fret. It's a queer
game, but we all must play it and pretend we like it. Take
things as they come, and they usually come much better.
127
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
That's what is going to win for us, and the better we do our
own little jobs, the sooner the whole business will be over.
In February there were happy meetings, with his sister
on leave from her Y, M. C. A. work in France, and with
friends. Before the end of the month he wrote:
[St. Am and]
February 28.
Last night I received three Sunday Heralds, which took me
home for a while; it seemed very natural to read about what
everybody was doing, how the war was going on, and all that
sort of thing, though there seems to be an awful lot of talk about
the way they are running things. It is a very nice sensation to
see a paper you are familiar with, after the various assortments
of one sheet half-English, half-French affairs we get here. From
all accounts you must be having a very hard winter, and are
not much better off than we are. We have plenty of food, even
though some of it might not appeal to an epicure. Some of the
articles in the paper hit the dope pretty straight as to what we
are doing, while others are of course perfectly fantastic.
Just after I started this letter I was informed that I had to
go on as Officer of the Day, which is rather a bore, for it is now
part of the O. D.'s job to verify prisoners every two hours
during the night. The O. D. can do with them as he sees fit, so
their lives are not worth much; I have just had them out dig-
ging trenches in the rain for two hours, and they are getting
off easier than usual at that. I have just finished reading
"Victory" in spare time; it is a great story and a pleasant
change for one's imagination.
The old lady in whose house we are now living is a lonely soul
if ever I saw one. She is very tidy and thrifty, and tonight I
was sitting by her fire and noticed something on either side of
the chimney. Investigation showed that she had hung hams
up there to dry and smoke; rather different from Swift's way
of doing, but it seems to get good results. She has a hard life
128
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
these days, for she lives in a room between ours and the street.
She goes to bed (after putting on a night-cap and taking off
her sHppers) under two large feather beds at about eight, and
from that time on there is a continuous tramp back and forth,
until about eleven and starting again about five-thirty, order-
lies, strikers, and ourselves. It never seems to worry her in the
slightest, though, and she sleeps until about nine. The sand-
man is on the job for fair. Cheerio.
Alarch 17.^
It has been some time since I have had a chance to write, but
we are taking life pretty easy now. My experiences recently
have been of a very new and interesting sort, but it is perfectly
true that even were I allowed it would be almost impossible to
describe them. Our men were splendid, and always kept keen
and cheerful even under somewhat trying conditions. It is
pretty hard to ask a man to be on the alert for fourteen hours,
standing in mud, and then get him to do any work in the day-
time. It is a good deal of a strain being on the job twenty-four
hours out of the day, but that is all made up for now, when we
can sleep to our heart's content. We had some bombardments,
which are indeed very noisy things and make you move around
with a crook in your back, or else hang on to the front of the
trench as if you expected it to get away from you. One very
nasty one lasted about two hours, and then stopped very sud-
denly; there was a few minutes of silence that seemed noisier
than when the guns were going, and then, just as the sun
started to come up, the birds began to sing as though nothing
had happened, and it made you feel that everything was all
right. The weather has been wonderful, and it makes me want
to get out and play golf.
This afternoon I was standing out in front of my billet enjoy-
ing the sunshine, when a big whale of a private came up to me,
^ Written at Mandres when the Company came back into reserve
after its first tour in the front line before Seicheprey, with Haydock's
platoon in the Bois de Carre.
129
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
and said, "Sir, may I have permission to speak to the Lieu-
tenant? " It was WalHe Trumbull, ^ who had enlisted in an artil-
lery outfit near here! It was fine to see him, and we had a good
chat.
There were lots of rats up where we were, and their moving
around got a rise out of me. There had been a rumor that
someone was in our line, and I had gone to investigate. My
runner was right behind me, and we were pussyfooting down a
communicating trench when we heard a splash which made us
stop and listen. I had my gun cocked, and started to snoop
around a corner when I heard another splash, and then a little
one, like a person putting his foot back to catch his balance.
We crouched down and waited for about five minutes for another
move; we both felt pretty sure it was a rat, but were not taking
chances. It turned out that the first noise was a rat, and also
the second; the third was made by my stepping on a long-
handled shovel, which had made the noise several feet away.
We were on the edge of what had once been a wood; but shell
fire had left nothing but stumps, and in the early hours of the
morning these said stumps had a habit of walking around and
forming up in line in a most astonishing way; in fact, we even
had to go so far as to shoot a couple of them.
Well, keep the good spirit up and write often.
March 31.^
Three letters arrived this Easter morning, and did much to
make the day seem a little different from the others. The bless-
ing of this war is the amount of work; it does not give you a
chance to think about much else, and there is a good deal of
satisfaction to seeing things done and in knowing you are hold-
ing a part of the line, small and unimportant as it may be.
One's ideas of luxury do change: today, for instance, instead
of getting dressed up in top-hat and cutaway and going to
' Walter H. Trumbull, Jr., a schoolmate at Middlesex, a college
mate at Harvard ('15), and business mate with The Russell Company.
* Written from the support position in front of Beaumont and be-
hind Seicheprey.
130
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
church as I did a year ago, I washed my face in rainwater,
slopped out through the rain, and bossed a working party. I
think I shall see some of that part of the world that I got familiar
with last fall, only under a little different circumstances this
time. I have just slept twenty-one hours and had a swell turkey
dinner that made me want to sleep twenty-one more. It might
interest you to know that this month I have had my clothes
off twice long enough to take a bath, and can see no prospect
of ever getting them off again. The other night, during a little
excitement, some M. G.'s were on the job, and for the first
time I had the experience of hitting the dirt by reflex action;
the first thing I knew I was flat on my face in a mud puddle,
which in itself is proof that I did not do it consciously, for I was
wet the rest of the night.
April 4-*
We have been having a rather strenuous but interesting time,
something like what you see pictures of and read about, only
the magazines have cut a good deal of the stuff that is the chief
cause of comment for all of us here; our chief questions are: —
How much further? — when do we eat? — will we get a chance
to sleep?
This is a wonderful country when the sun shines, especially
at this time of year when things are just beginning to come out
a little. We live on what we carry, so you can imagine what that
is. I have to smile when I think of the kicking I have done about
loads carried in the past, yet there is a fascination to the whole
thing that I have never experienced before, and yet it is sur-
prising how much it all seems like manoeuvres. I wish I could
describe the doings of the last week to you, as they have been
most enlightening, but I shall have to depend on my memory
after I get home. It is a big time, but thank God it has started,
for it may end sometime now. By the time this reaches you,
you will probably have read of our doings, as only the American
papers can describe them. We have the regimental band and
1 Written from Bois I'Eveque, a cantonment near Toul.
131
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
colors for the first time in a good many weeks, and both seem
to help put us on our toes. The esprit in our company has
always been very good, and now it is noticeable both for regi-
ment and division; the men are certainly a splendid lot, and
get better with time.
Speaking of time, when this letter reaches thee I will have
about finished my first year in the army and be entitled to wear
a gold chevron on my lower left sleeve for six months' service
in the advanced zone; does n't that seem queer? me with a
service stripe and still a rookie? At present scraping mud off
clothes with a tin French pen-knife takes more of our thought
than what kind of gold braid we wull wear. We Americans
cannot compete with either the French or English on the
clothes question: we dress just about the same as the men,
carry the same and more junk on our backs, and are just as
dirty; we sometimes try to be the other way, but cannot stand
it for long. All hands are optimistic and think there is a chance
of getting home before 1950; last winter we thought it was a
permanent state over here.
At the beginning of April, the regiment was withdrawn
to Toul for rest. On the 13th the whole First Division was
mobilized for offensive action in Picardy, and gradually
went forward to the trenches before Cantigny. It was
during this march, according to a friend and fellows-officer
of Haydock's, Lieutenant R. A. Newhall/ that "General
Pershing [on April 16, at Chaumont-en-Vexin] assembled
all the officers of the First Division, and told them that
they were about to enter a campaign of real fighting, and
that it was up to them to set the pace for the American
1 Richard Ager Newhall, A.M. '14, Ph.D. '17; Instructor and Tutor
in the Department of History, Government, and Economics, 1915-17,
1918-19; wounded at Cantigny, and for forty-eight hours left helpless
in a shell-hole during the heavy bombardment of the attack and
counter-attack.
132
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
Army." After eight daj^s in the front Hne, the 28th In-
fantry, which had been picked to open the attack in this
first American offensive of the war was retired to Maison-
celle-Tuilerie for practice of the assault and a brief rest.
During these weeks Haydock, as he found opportunity,
wrote letters, from which the following passages are
taken :
April 24.1
It has been a long time since I last wrote, but the mails have
not been going out, and there is not much that I can say. The
weather has continued to be fine, and we are all feeling fit and
full of "pep" as a result. Today has been one to be marked in
history for me, — • I had a bath! not just the kind I would have
taken at home, to be sure, but it answered the purpose very
well. I have not been inhabited, but the men are having a bad
time, and are using this opportunity to boil their clothes.
I had a chance not long ago to get into a fairly good-sized
towTi [Beauvais], and of course took advantage of it, getting a
ride on a "Y" truck. I went with my intellectual friend,- and
he really is doing a good bit to educate me; history is his
specialty, and as he has been to many of these places before
he knows all about them and what has happened there as well
as the date. It has made all the difference to me to have some-
one to play around with. We saw all of the sights and then
decided to go in quest of tea. On inquiring, we were informed
that the "Smith College Unit" would not only feed us, but that
we would be entertained by charming American girls; so around
we went, and were smoked and fed and talked at a mile a
minute. They are a Red Cross unit and had a red-hot story to
tell. They gave us a lot of news we were glad to get, and we
even went so far as to take two of them out to dinner; and alto-
gether we had a most enjoyable time. You can say what you
1 Written from Velennes, where the Company stopped for about a
week in the course of the march northward to Cantiguy.
2 Lieutenant Newhall.
133
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
like about this being no place for women; perhaps in many-
ways it is not, but I know one thing for sure, and that is that
we are all darn glad to see them, and seldom pass up a chance to
talk to them, even if it is only to say hello. There is a noticeable
"camaraderie'' among all the people in this country who can
speak English; it goes all the way from a British Tommy to a
cross red nurse, and is one of the things I should like to see
survive the war, but of course it won't. When you are continu-
ally surrounded by French, anyone who can "parler" so you
can understand them is a long-lost friend.
I wish thee could see some of the things I have been seeing,
not all, to be sure, but there are some wonderful old houses and
gardens, and landscapes that make me feel as though I were in
a dream. It's a queer world and a crazy war, but everybody
seems to have a pretty good time in spite of it, so cheerio.
[Velennes]
April 28.
Here it is Sunday again; I would not have known it, but
somebody told me, and the church-bells are ringing. It is a
gloomy sort of a day, the kind that makes one want to stay in
bed; if at home, I should be wondering whether to take a chance
on getting wet and play golf, or just to loaf around and do noth-
ing. One advantage of being in the Army is that you do not
have to decide which fifteen you will play with, as they nearly
always decide for you that you will be with the other fifteen.
You can't stop to argue, all you can do is to cuss. The Army is
certainly a funny animal. We breeze along the road, come to a
perfectly innocent little town where we are to stay, and then
a mighty interesting metamorphosis takes place. For instance:
I locate my non-com who has gone ahead, and he shows me
where my platoon is to be billeted. It is a typical farm-yard
in the town; that is, you go in from the street through a large
door and find yourself in a quadrangle which is the barnyard;
the front side is the house, the back the barn, and to the right
and left chicken-houses, rabbit-pens, hay in sheds, etc., while in
134
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
the centre is a charming pool of green slime, and next to this
the well. The platoon halts while I investigate; on the door
is written "40 men" and I find a pile of straw in the barn, so all
is "jake." The men come in with a rush and scatter to the
four winds to get the best bunk; ten minutes later they are all
settled and looking the place over as if they owned it. They
have to chase the ducks and chickens out of their billets, and
sometimes said poultry gets in the way and there is a casualty;
result: claim, interpreter, much talking with the hands and
loud cries, ending up by my having to get 20,000 francs from
the platoon to pay for one old hen. Soon after the men get
settled, it is decided to have the rolling kitchen there; so in it
comes, looking like a primitive fire-engine, with its various
wagons. They are pushed into place, and line begins to form
for chow, and if all goes well they are getting it in an hour after
we arrive. As a rule it is stew or slum, and what the men call
"deep sea," which if thee saw thee would know why, but we
sure do put it away. We have all learned a lot of things and
the result is a very marked improvement and more comfort for
all concerned.
I have had a chance to read some magazines, and note with
interest the appearance of stories of the "American front";
they are very amusing, but not nearly as funny as the news-
paper accounts of our doings. I am beginning to believe that
Professor Channing, of Cambridge, has the right idea when he
puts a not before all things recorded in history. I am afraid
I lack the imagination necessary to make a real story out of
some of the things I have seen.
[Maisoncelle]
May 5.
Sunday again, and rest this time. Passage of time means
nothing now; a week goes by before it starts. I have just been
looking over a Literary Digest of March 23d and saw in it a
soldier defined as a man who has an "insatiable desire to go
anywhere else," and if this is true, I think most of us are pretty
good soldiers. It's funny, no matter where we are, we wish we
135
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
were somewhere else; if at the front, we want to get back to
rest, and vice versa, but I have been less restless here than in most
places, perhaps because I have a bed to sleep on.
I am now in charge of our officers' mess, which consists in try-
ing to find something to eat besides the issue, which is not often
possible, though now and then we are able to get a few eggs
and vegetables, but the place is pretty well cleaned out of every-
body but soldiers. We were to have late breakfast today, and
Newhall and I on going to bed decided that they would surely
pull an "alert" or something else, just to get us out. Sure
enough, soon after we were in bed we heard a scurry in the
street, the call to arms, and then the usual rustle to get things
right quickly. It is a form of drill that always amuses me, and
is something like what my old idea of war was like, — running
around in the dark, getting out ammunition, rations, etc., and
then dropping into place. It adds to the interest not to know
whether it is drill or not.
[Maisoncelle]
May 12.
Yesterday I celebrated my first anniversary in the Army by
going into a good-sized town and taking a bath, and the trip
was a little variety and most enjoyable. I started out with the
captain, and walked a mile or so to a nearby town on the main
road, and lay in wait for a ride; of course all traffic was going
the wrong way, and it began to look as though we might get
fooled; but presently a real car came steaming along with a
couple of Frenchmen in it and looking as though there was
room for two more, so I shouted "B ?" at them, much as
the little muckers shout "Extra ticket, mister?" outside the
Stadium. The car hauled up though, so we got in and rode to
our destination in real style, a most enjoyable ride, though it
made me a bit dizzy to see the landscape go by so fast. On
arrival, my first objective was a dry-goods store, and I found
one about like Jimmy Jones', and then tried to convey the idea
to an old woman that I wanted some underclothes. It did n't
136
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
get by at all, however, and the words were not in my little
dictionary; but then I found Jimmy himself, who after a little
scouting found some in a box, and we got along splendidly.
The next, or second, objective (in terms of French warfare)
was the bath-house. I crashed around and told the old woman
I desired a bath. She gave me a look, and said "om"" — very
intelligent at times, these French. She then gave me a card
with "12" on it, and told me to sit down; after waiting awhile
I grew a bit restless, so she showed me into the courtyard, and
told me to look at the fountain and the pretty flowers. Finally
my turn came, and I bought towels and soap, and was shown
to my compartment in which was a large tin bath-tub full of
hot water. I got aboard, and afterwards, in my newly-purchased
clothes, felt like a prince.
It is a wonderful feeling to get where there are other people
than those in the Army. I had tea at a nice hotel, and amused
myself by watching the crowd. Then, after a good dinner, came
the problem of getting back some thirty odd kilos, before our
passes ran out. We got a flivver ambulance, A. R. C, with
donor's name on outside, and started back. Of course it had to
get running on one lung, and we stopped several times for re-
pairs; but it carried us more than half way, after which we
picked up with a R. C. truck that took us almost in.
The April number of the Atlantic came yesterday, and was
most welcome. We haven't yet gotten over the idea that
because we are at war we must always be just as uncomfortable
as we can, do things in the least sensible way, and never act
naturally. I think we are beginning to get nearer rock bottom,
though, and do what has to be done in the quickest and best
way, and then rest when we get through. They give us gold
service stripes, as if the wearing of them proved that we were
soldiers. I enclose mine, but will not wear one until I have done
a little more than chase Indians.
This is "Mother's Day," and I am writing "Mother's Letter"
on the envelope because they say it will go faster, but don't
137
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
think that I have to have a special day set aside to think of
thee.
Two days before Haydock's death, when his regiment
had completed its practice for the attack at Cantigny,
he wrote:
May m.^
Everything " jake " and back for a bit of a rest away from the
everlasting racket. Things are very different this time. These
long days and short nights make a big difference in the war. We
had wonderful, clear days, but very hot about noon; the nights
were cool and also very bright, which, I may state, added con-
siderable interest. All the time it was light we would crawl
into our holes, sleep and try not to be bored; I was reduced to
reading Shakespeare and racing beetles for amusement. At
night we were, of course, very busy with so many things to be
done and so few hours to do them in; also Fritz got very rude
at times and would interrupt us.
I think the most exciting thing I have done so far was getting
the chow in. It was brought to a certain place at a certain time,
and we carried it in. The first night I was shown a spot on the
map and told to take the carrying party there; I had never been
over the route, but took a compass bearing and went to it. The
country was much the same as that around Middlesex, and we
had to go about as far as from the School to Concord, across
country and avoiding certain shelled areas such as corners of
woods, little valleys, etc. If we got lost or did n't get through,
we were out of luck for twenty -four hours, and so were many
others; but we did get through, and got the chow in every time,
although the returning party was on several occasions smaller.
I was pretty lucky every time I went. We would be going along
perfectly peacefully, listening to the nightingales, when all of
a sudden there would be a whizz and a bang (we were usually
* Written from Maisoncelle after the return of the battalion from
the trenches before Cantigny to practise the attack which took place
on May 28.
138
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
on our stomachs by the time the bang came), and we would see
flashes all along a certain place, and would thereupon decide
that that was an unhealthy spot and carefully avoid it. It's a
great game, trying to outguess Fritz. He tries to get our habits
and routes, and we try to get his; we find he shells a certain
place at a certain time pretty regularly, so we avoid that place.
We went slightly different routes and at slightly different times,
trying to keep one jump ahead of him. You get up out of the
shelled area and then you have the M. G.'s to dodge; they are
nasty, because you have no warning. It's a long pull to the
front line, and, as the communicating trench is being worked on,
you must go over the top all the way. You break up into small
parties, and use all the cover you can find, and have no trouble
making the men keep quiet or do what you tell them; you get
down, come back, check up on your party, and heave a sigh of
relief. I thought at first we would all come back hump-backs,
but we soon learned the different noises and got over wasting
energy; but as divers all my platoon go in Class A. It is aston-
ishing how quickly one can discover and get into a small hole
or ditch when occasion demands. I have seen my entire platoon,
self included, disappear off the face of the earth in a plowed
field, and in less time than it takes to tell. We also had some
practical experience in food conservation, and I washed, shaved,
and drank quite comfortably out of one canteen of water in
twenty-four hours. It is encouraging, for I think we may learn
to be soldiers in spite of ourselves.
Lots of funny things happen, for instance: When we were
making a relief at rather a ticklish time, we were moving along
the edge of a very pretty little wood on a wonderful, clear,
moonlight night, and just as we were getting where we could
breathe more freely, a nightingale, the first one I had ever
heard, began to sing for all he was worth, as if to tell us there
was nothing to worry about. I used to pass that place nearly
every night and hear him, and it made me feel as though we
were sure enough a bunch of fools.
139
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
We got here after a long, hard, all-night pull, and were
greeted by a hot meal, which is a luxury in itself, and a big
batch of mail with letters from all the family and Aunt Sally.
I read them all, and then turned in for a wonderful all-day
sleep, then hot supper and an all-night sleep; so things are not
nearly as bad as they might be. The last hitch taught me a lot
about human nature, and my conclusions are that the average
mortal is a pretty good umbrie, and that the bad eggs are not
as numerous as I had often supposed.
This is an awful lot of talk, but never mind, I had a good
time writing it. Don't take it seriously; 'tis n't worth while,
and it's much more fun not to.
On the night of May 27-28, the 28th Infantry took its
place in the trenches for the attack on Cantigny; and
at 6.4o in the morning of the 28th went over the top.
Haydock was in command of the 1st platoon, which had
reached the first line of the German position and was clear-
ing out a trench when he was shot and instantly killed
w^hile trying to place and silence a machine gun that w^as
interrupting the progress of the operation. To Haydock's
regiment alone the cost of the demonstration at Cantigny
that the American Army had entered the fight to good
purpose was a loss of 17 officers and 304 men killed, 33
officers and 728 men wounded, and 12 men missing. For
its behavior in that engagement it was cited in Orders
November 24, 1918, by Marshal Petain and decorated
with the green shoulder loop of "Za Fourragere."
Haydock was buried w^here he fell. At a later day his
body was found and removed to the American cemetery
at Villers-Tournelle, near Cantigny. The official recog-
nition of his service took the following form:
140
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
Citation
Headquarters First Division,
American Expeditionary Forces,
June 15, 1918.
General Order No. 26.
The Division Commander cites the following officers and men
of the 28th Infantry for conspicuous gallantry in connection with
the capture and defense of Cantigny, May 27-31st, 1918:
First Lieutenant George G. Haydock, U. S. R., 28th Infantry,
displayed qualities of coolness and gallantry which inspired his
whole platoon; he was killed while attempting, almost single-
handed, to take a machine gun.
By Command of Major General Bullard
H. K. LOUGHRY
Major, F. A., N. A.
Division Adjutant.
From soldiers under his command came many expres-
sions of the admiration and affection in which he was held.
"Lieutenant Haydock," wrote one of them, "was the
most popular officer in our company. The men in our
platoon would do anything in the world for him. Many
times while in the trenches he has shared his tobacco with
enlisted men who were not quite as lucky in getting a
supply. I have even known of his taking off his last pair
of dry socks and giving them to one of the men who had
gotten his feet wet." Another member of his platoon has
written :
Lieutenant Haydock was assigned to Co. L, 28th Infantry,
after our landing in France. At St. Amand he joined us. He
was an excellent drillmaster, and also an excellent man. He
was considered one of the best bayonet experts in the A. E. F.
I was in his platoon from the time he joined the company until
141
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
his death. I went into the trenches with him, March 7, in the
Toul sector. It was at this place that he won the highest re-
spect of every man in the platoon which he commanded, it
being the first. In this sector it was very trying, owing to the
winter and the severe weather and the long nights, almost
unendurable.
Lieutenant Haydock never asked a man to do a thing or take
a chance that he would n't do or take himself. But when the
machine guns were in action against us, he would hold his hand
above the parapet, and if they were not near enough to hit his
hand, he would rise up and look into "No Man's Land." He
never became excited, but was always calm. After five days
and nights of this hardship we were relieved with less casualties
than the other three platoons. He became popular throughout
the entire company, and from that time on was looked upon as
a fearless man.
From this sector we went to Cantigny, took the town and
held it. As we were advancing on the morning of May 28th,
we came to a halt. The lieutenant walked from one end of the
platoon to the other, cautioning repeatedly, "Men, keep lower
for your own sakes." They replied, "Lieutenant, you keep low.
They will get you." The last words he spoke were, "They can't
kill me." He was hit by a machine-gun bullet, and died in-
stantly. He was buried that night close to where he fell.
The friends he made in school, college, business, and
the Army spoke, in a cloud of witnesses, for the deep im-
pression his life had made upon them.
One of them, Henry Oilman Nichols, a classmate in
college, endowed in his memory a bed in the American
Hospital at Neuilly for the duration of the war. A brief
passage from a letter written by another friend at Har-
vard, who was also a comrade overseas, provides the words
which may speak for them all:
142
GEORGE GUEST HAYDOCK
Never in all my experiences with officers have I met such a
wonderful personality and disposition as George had; no matter
what the conditions were, he was everlastingly cheerful, always
the most congenial, and always the most appreciated man we
ever had. No situation ever got the best of him, and there was
never a situation that he would n't laugh at; this last is the
greatest thing I can say in the life we led. His remarkable
sense of humor not only pulled him through all those weeks but
pulled everyone else through who came in contact with him.
A sense of humor under those conditions is far more than a
literal translation of the words; it means the greatest possible
amount of perseverance, nerve, loyalty, and ability. It means
a big mind with a broad outlook.
143
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
Class of 1910
Dn Armistice Sunday, November 9, 1919, in the
Cathedral of the Incarnation at Baltimore, Maryland, a
tablet was dedicated to the memory of Lieutenant George
Buchanan Redwood. The final words of its inscription,
"A Crusader Blameless and Without Fear," may well be
placed at the forefront of any attempt to present the
144
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
character and record of the man it commemorates. With
these words should be joined a few others, from an editorial
that appeared in the Baltimore Sun, when the news of his
death was received: "At thirty he has passed away with
a record which few men twice his age can equal. And the
record is peculiarlj^ beautiful, inspiring, and touching, even
to this day when heroism has become a commonplace of
daily life. It appeals to us especially not merely because
he died in battle, not merely because he showed a courage
that never flinched, but because there was behind and in
it all the rare spirit of knighthood at its best, of a loving
and lofty self-sacrifice that made this war to him almost
a sacrament, and made peril in a great cause almost a
religious rite."
George Redwood was born in Baltimore, September 30,
1888, the elder of the two sons of the late Francis Tazewell
Redwood, a stock broker of that city, and Mary Buchanan
(Coale) Redwood. He was prepared for college at the
Baltimore Country School for Boys. One of his school-
mates there, a friend from childhood, and afterwards a
classmate at Harvard, has recalled, to Redwood's mother,
the interchange of nursery visits between the two boys:
"I preferred visiting at your house, because George had
such wonderful soldiers, forts, etc. How striking to look
back and realize that all his early interest was in soldiers!
He was the only boy I ever knew whose main interest was
almost exclusively warfare." Commenting upon Red-
wood's military interest, his friend, J. G. D. Paul (Har-
vard, '08), has more recently written:
This preoccupation was, to be sure, only a manifestation of
the fundamental elements of Redwood's character, which, in
145
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
their blending, seemed to so many of his friends a fitter expres-
sion of the spirit of the crusading Middle Ages than of the day
in which we live. Unflinching moral and physical courage were
his; a truthfulness knowing no compromise; an indifference to
the material standards of school, college, and the larger world
verging on asceticism; a completely democratic nature which
unlocked to him the freedom of unconventionality. Taking
into account the intensity of his nature, this last might have led
him far afield had it not been for the ever-present restraint of
his religion and his high sense of honor.
A classmate in college, the Rev. Floyd W. Tomkins, Jr.,
wrote, after Redwood's death, a letter in which the fol-
lowing paragraphs show him quite manifestly as he was in
his undergraduate days:
George was as fine and noble a man as it has been my privilege
to know. Not in the conventional and proper way, the negative
way, the way in which so many of us succeed because we know
it is expected of us, but in the bottom-of-the-soul, "because I
will" kind of way. He was scared of nothing, neither the devil
or God; and he served God because he chose to. . . . He just
simply preferred what was decent and noble. . . . His natural
and instinctive tastes were for chivalry, and honor and right.
Some of us acquire such tastes, but he must have been born with
them.
For a few months in the autumn of 1910, after graduat-
ing from Harvard, spending the summer abroad, studying
German and attending the Passion Play at Oberammergau,
Redwood worked in a broker's office in Baltimore. He
then became a reporter on the Baltimore News, with
which he remained until November, 1912. Ill health
forced him to give up this position, and to spend the
winter of 1912-13 at Asheville, North Carolina. While
146
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
there he was confirmed a member of the Protestant
Episcopal church. This step was not a matter of mere
outward form, but sealed and testified to a spirit of devo-
tion which characterized, to a degree quite remarkable, his
intrinsic relation to life. After passing the following sum-
mer abroad and the winter of 1913-14 in study at Balti-
more, he became connected, in the spring of 1914, with
an advertising firm of that city. Early in 1917 he rejoined
the staff of the Baltimore News, and took up a work
which gave abundant nourishment to his keen sense of
humor and to his fondness for eccentric types of human
nature.
In his work as a newspaper man he displayed unusual
qualities of intelligence and energy. "Those who were
associated with him when he was on the reportorial staff
of the News,'' wrote a city editor of that journal, "know
that there was nothing too hard for him to tackle; no
duty he was too proud to perform; no hours too long for
him to work; no personal pleasure or consideration he
would not sacrifice to his business, and nothing at which
he aimed that he did not attain, and attain in the shortest
possible time, with the greatest thoroughness and success."
Through all these years Redwood was a close student
of warfare. In the summer of 1910 he had learned all
that he could about the German army and military system.
Through the Balkan wars he had shown a keen interest
in the strategy and tactics employed against the Turks.
When the general war came to Europe it was only out of
deference to his obligations at home that he abandoned his
own desire to enlist in the Canadian Army or join the
French Foreign Legion. Feeling that the United States
147
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
must one day bear its part in the struggle, he attended
the Plattsburg camp in 1915, after having thrown him-
self heartily into the local movement which resulted in the
contribution of eighty Maryland men to the membership
of that encampment. Again in 1916 he went to Platts-
burg, and, when the camp of that summer ended, received
the commission of second lieutenant in the Officers' Re-
serve Corps of the Army. Thus he was already a reserve
officer when April, 1917, came, and as such was ordered,
early in May, to the training camp at Fort Myer. On
the completion of his term of instruction there, he was
commissioned, August 15, first lieutenant of infantry in
the Regular Army, and ordered overseas. He sailed from
New York, September 7. The opportunity for service and
heroic action, which he had restlessly sought, had come
to him at last.
Before leaving the United States, Redwood knew that
he was to be assigned to the British Fourth Army School
for Scouting, Sniping, and Observation. Twenty officers
from the various training camps in the United States were
chosen to receive the instruction of this school. Redwood
kept a diary while he was there, and at the end of the
course made the characteristically modest entry, "Exams
today, mark loo." The next highest mark was 93. In
February, 1918, he was assigned to Company I, 28th In-
fantry, and appointed an intelligence officer. In this
capacity there was abundant opportunity for him to con-
tribute to the successful work of his regiment and of the
First Division, of which it formed a part. Early in 1918
the Division took over a sector of the battle line northeast
of Toul, and the 28th Infantry was in active combat with
148
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
the enemy until the Division was reheved on April 4. A
week before this time Redwood distinguished himself by
the special act of valor soon to be related. Before and
after March 28, he wrote, chiefly to his mother, many
letters — terse and non-committal even beyond the re-
quirements of military censorship. The following pas-
sages contrive to suggest something of his experiences
and of the spirit in which he met them:
Saturday, October 6, 1917.
This afternoon, when our lessons were over, I walked to
another town near here to get a haircut, and I was an object of
great curiosity wherever I passed. If a full grown hippopotamus
had walked down the street, it would hardly have caused more
excitement. There was always a shout of "American," and
heads popped out of doors and windows right and left. They
always recognize us by our felt hats, which are different from
anything in either the French or British armies, with the excep-
tion of the hats worn by some of the British Colonials, and they
are creased fore and aft instead of peaked.
Saturday, October 13.
I attended a service in a little French country church when a
number of children were receiving their first communion. The
ceremony was quaint and picturesque, though I could under-
stand not so very much more than at the Russian service in New
York. The choir was composed of three elderly peasants who
sat in the rear of the church and just behind my pew. They
wore knee-length smocks, startlingly like nightshirts, over their
ordinary clothes, and one had a queer yellow cope as well. Two
sang and the third played a prodigious brass horn and spat on
the floor with noisy fervor by turns. I should n't make fun
of them, though : the little church was well filled and the con-
gregation devout and attentive. After the service the children
marched forth. Two white-clad girls led, carrying staffs, one
149
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
decked with gold and white, the other with gold and red tinsel.
The acolytes bore lighted candles. Then came the rank and file
of the newly confirmed children, six peasant lads of different
ages, wearing wreaths of white flowers about their close-cropped,
bullet heads, and an equal number of girls in white dresses and
veils. In the rear marched a portly priest in robes and behind
him the three weather-beaten sons of Orpheus in their robes (de
nuit) also.
Sunday, October 1^.
I omitted to mention a wonderful major domo who kept order
during the service and marched at the head of the procession.
He wore a much bedizened coat, epaulettes, cocked hat, wide
shoulder belt with a little sword and carried a big staff.
This morning I have read the gospel and epistle and the les-
sons, took a walk, and have been putting into shape some of my
notes.
December 2, 1917.
I was very much amused indeed at the first page display of
the News regarding the American troops going up to the
trenches. I read that florid piece of literature aloud to my room-
mate. Lieutenant Morrison, and we almost laughed ourselves
speechless. The copy reader who wrote the headlines was cer-
tainly imaginative, particularly in writing of the "Big 75"
which sent a "great shell" ! ! ! A 75 is only a 75, and can't
be big, nor can its shell be possibly more than 75 millimetres in
diameter. It is the French equivalent of our old, common or
field variety of 3-inch gun; the usual one that you always used
to see in our mobile artillery. After reading that I feel like
telling you how I went to the target range some time ago, "drew
my enormous automatic pistol and sent its colossal bullet
hurtling through atmosphere to make a prodigious gaping hole
in the target!"
Sunday, December 16.
You really must n't trouble to send along any more "eats"
after you get this. I don't mean that I don't enjoy them, but
150
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
from various causes I judge it is hardly a good proposition. I
believe I mentioned in my last letter (which will probably
reach you about Christmas) that we get all the sugar we want
here, while I understand that you are on an allowance back in
the States. Also we can buy extras in the way of canned goods,
block sweet chocolate of various makes, malted milk, Oxo
bouillon tablets, etc., at the Y. M. C. A. and at the Commissary.
We can and do get more than is good for us, I suppose, and I
have several times made unkept resolutions (and one week ac-
tually made one I kept) to limit myself for various periods to
what was provided in our company mess. . . .
OflBcers must certify their letters also and go over the men's.
I have read some very amusing ones from enlisted men to people
at home, a few pathetic and many intensely human. One forms
a good opinion of the stamp of men we have from what they
write, be their grammar and spelling never so crude. They are
earnest, steady fellows for the most part, and they have been
making allotments to mothers, wives, and sweethearts, insuring
their lives and buying Liberty bonds in a way that ought to
make civilians in the States sit up and take notice.
These comments on the enlisted man, sympathetic as
they are, give little idea of the remarkable understanding
and affection existing between Redwood and his subordi-
nates. In a democratic army like the American Expedi-
tionary Forces, the problem of winning the personal loyalty
of the men in the ranks without doing violence to the
canons of military etiquette and discipline was one which
many officers found difficult in the extreme. To Red-
wood's complete success in solving it many of his soldiers
have testified in words that are as touching as they are
sincere. A young American woman, serving in France
with the Red Cross, wrote to his mother shortly after the
attack at Cantigny where Redwood met his death:
151
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
I find we have men here in the hospital who knew George well
and who say such beautiful things of him that I thought you
might like to hear them.
Private Schlossen, who was in his company, said he saw him
continually in the last action and heard him spoken of in the
highest praise by the men in his section. . . . You should
have seen his face light up when he spoke of George. He said
he was the bravest man and the finest officer they had ever
known. From first to last he had been the most wonderful
example to his men, and they all adored him.
My other patient, Samuel Ervin, said he knew George well,
as he had been in the same company and had gone over the top
with him. He also said he was one of the finest men he had ever
known, and that his men would do anything for him. He said
before going into action he always knelt down to pray; he was
like a person inspired; he did not know what fear was.
Another Red Cross nurse, working in the barracks at
Pontanezen, was talking with some members of a casual
company made up of men from nearly every branch of
the service. "A private, Gailband of the 28th Infantry,"
she wrote her brother in Baltimore, "had been giving me
information about four or five men of his company when
suddenly his eye lit up at the name of Lieutenant Red-
wood. He grew quite excited and began talking so fast
about him that I had to stop him in order to get what he
had said written down. ... It was really fine to hear
him talk. Often the men, in giving details, will say 'He
was a good officer,' but they don't often show much
enthusiasm."
Enthusiasm is certainly not lacking in Gailband's long
eulogy, which he concludes, in his own picturesque way,
with as handsome a tribute as an American private could
152
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
well pay his officer: "He had an awful fine reputation in
that outfit, the best reputation I ever heard a man get.
He was never one of these sporty guys, — he stuck around
with his men. You never would have known the differ-
ence between us, except he wore the Sam BrowTie belt. I
would like to have his mother's address."
If any further explanation of this devoted admiration
were needed, it might be found in a letter written from
France by Private Lee Thompson to his mother in Balti-
more:
"There is a boy here named Ballou," he says, "from
Gloversville, N. Y., who knew George Redwood well.
. . . Every man had a good word for him, and he was
not like an oflScer but more like a friend to them all. He
would give away everything he had to make the men more
comfortable, and actually was walking around in old
shoes that no one else would wear, having given his owti
to some soldier."
Of all this quiet self-sacrifice, there is not a hint in Red-
wood's own letters. On Christmas Day, 1917, he wrote his
mother :
You are possibly at the morning service now, for I think it is
about noon at home. There must be an elaborate service at
Mount Calvary, and they are carrying in the procession the
cross and three or four banners including that with the picture
of my friend, Saint George, on it. I went to a service in the
French church here. The church was n't heated, of course, so
all the congregation kept on their wraps. There was a mixture
of French women in black cloaks, men in various clothes and
soldiers in horizon blue, — and our own men in olive drab. A
nice looking French captain of infantry sat in the pew in front
of me, a middle-aged man with an intelligent, though rather
153
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
lined and brown, face and a touch of gray in his black moustache.
Beside me sat three old peasant women, wrinkled, weather-
beaten and devout. I saw in the prayerbook of the one nearest
me "A21 commencement etait la Verbe," the same as our own
Gospel for Christmas Day: "In the beginning was the Word,"
which I was reading in the little Prayerbook you gave me.
As for Christmas Dinner, Uncle Sam remembered us as well,
if not better than he did on Thanksgiving. We had hot turkey
and stuffing, corn, potatoes, string beans and peas, with apple
pie, chocolate-iced cake, apples and walnuts for dessert, with
coffee to drink. All in our officers' mess ate as much as they
could, and we are going to have the debris with another apple
pie for supper.
After dinner we sat around a little while, then at three o'clock
went to the Y. M. C. A. cantonment, where there was a Christ-
mas tree. There was a movement made some time ago to get
all the soldiers to give one franc each and the officers five francs
each to provide for the little French children living in the locali-
ties where our troops are quartered. It was a splendid success.
I don't know just how it was managed in the different organiza-
tions, but our battalion gave as a unit and the affair was run
by a Lieutenant Naibert of our company. The whole front of
the Y. M. C. A. hall was crowded with the children and their
escorts, all grinning from ear to ear, and behind them was a
solid mass of American soldiers. Lieutenant Naibert did the
talking in English, and the local M. le Maire explained and ad-
dressed in French. All the needy children got shoes, and be-
sides that all got toys, nuts, candy, etc. M. le Maire had a list
duly numbered, and each present was marked with the name of
the recipient.
"38, Marie Celestine YvetteLeclerc," would read M. le Maire,
and M. C. Y. L. would go up and get a doll or a box of paints.
"39, Jean Joseph Martin Leclerc." And Marie's small
brother would receive a large dapple-gray wooden horse, or
perhaps a trumpet. There was a great number of these trum-
154
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
pets given out, and I expect we shall hear some weird bugle calls
at times other than prescribed during the next few days.
The ceremony concluded with three '"Vives" given by M. le
Maire: one for "if. le Lieutenant Naihert,'' one for "Les Etats-
Unis," and one for the ''troisieme hataillon, vingt-huitieme regi-
ment d'infanterie."
The children were all pleased to death. It was pleasant, and
and in a way touching, too, to see them. One realized that such
events did not happen often in their lives. ^
January 15, 1918.
I wish I could tell you more of our life here than the facts that
we are well and weather (usually) is bad. We have had hardly
anything but rain — that is, until it changed to snow, and today
it has switched back to rain. It is amusing how savagely the
enlisted men write home what they would do if they "could only
get that guy who called this country Sunny France." Poor
fellows ! If they came expecting perennial blue skies and a semi-
tropical atmosphere, they have been rudely enough undeceived
by the last few months. They're always cheerful, however, and
in the main are a fine steady lot of young fellows.
January 20, 1918.
I have been reading "A Student in Arms," 2d, in short in-
stallments each evening before I go to sleep, and was amused
to see the markings in the chapter "Don't Worry." Strange
to say I have been feeling utterly careless and irresponsible for
some time, and it was just as I was beginning to be smitten with
the fact that I ought to take things more seriously that I struck
the "Don't Worry." I think Hankey's idea is the right one so
long as one is conscious of trying to do one's best and sticking
at one's work. I regret to say, however, that I have not put in
the time that I should in studying my profession of late, and I
must get busy. The weather is much better now, the sun out,
^ See ante, p. 125, for an account of the same celebration by Red-
wood's fellow-officer of the 28th, Haydock.
155
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
the snow gone, and the mud fast drying. Everyone is beginning
to feel more industrious and energetic now that less time is put
in in keeping warm.
February 3.
Manoeuvring, exercises, drills, and work of one kind and
another, as well as censoring letters and making inspections keep
us pretty well occupied. It was certainly nice of you to want to
send me something, but really 1 hardly know of anything I need.
Books and papers are, of course, very welcome by the Y. M. C. A
etc., which runs small circulating libraries where officers and
enlisted men can get books for occasional reading. In the kit
of an individual there is little room, usually, for reading matter,
which tends to be either mislaid or destroyed. Hence those who
have time for reading are in a bad way if they can't get some-
thing from a Y. M. C. A. hut. I was amused to hear one officer
who had had a school assignment at a town "somewhere else
in France " say with great emphasis when he came back to our
command, "And you know the Y. M. C. A. there had real books
to read, and they were nt war books either!" It made me think
of the old sailor who told the clergyman that was to preach at
a Seaman's Mission "Please sir, for the love o' Heaven don't
talk about ships!"
Those little libraries mean a great deal, I think. For some
time our "Y" was without one, but now we have quite a fair
collection. There are few things, I suppose, that recall home
to a man much more than the books and papers of the United
States. It is difficult to advise you just how to help directly,
but from what I see I think anything you do for or send to the
"Y" won't be amiss. It and our regimental chaplains are the
greatest helps I believe we have.
In a letter of March 7, Redwood sent his mother specific
instructions for the application of tithes from his income
to religious and beneficent purposes. On St. Patrick's Day
he wrote to a warlike cousin :
156
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
My, but you are blood-thirsty! Is that the way the suffrage
affects you? Please note, ma'am, that I am not in the habit of
toting a bayonet about, but am armed only with an automatic
pistol for self-defense. I have never yet had occasion to shoot
even that in earnest, and for all I know, I never may. Well,
since you have such feelings, here is a scrap of German uniform
on which I think by careful scrutiny I have detected German
Blood ! (but sh ! suppose it were only vin rouge or red ink !) You
had best spill on more to get the proper effect, and possibly a
little white enamel judiciously worked in might be palmed off
on the unsuspecting as German Brains!!!
Love to all at home,
Your now plump cousin,
George B. Redwood.
Two days later he wrote to his friend, Stephen B. Luce
(Harvard, '09) :
I wish I could write more about what we see and do over here,
but, as you know, that is forbidden. Of course we every now
and then have comical meetings with people we knew before,
at training camps, etc., or those who know those that we know.
You're out of luck indeed if you can't find some acquaintance in
common or bond of union with almost everyone you meet. This
life is a remarkable one, what I have seen of it, and if narrowing
intellectually is certainly broadening humanly. That is, in
many ways, for it has an unfortunate tendency (at least I feel
it) of making anyone inclined to be selfish, three times more so
than ever before. This seems rather hard to explain with what
I said above, but it is so. It brings out what is in people so that
everything is abominably visible to all. But enough — Pereat
Borussia et Philosophia I
Well, pax vobiscum, or rather bellum vobiscum, if you
wish it.
There is little or nothing in these letters to indicate the
importance of the work Redwood was doing through all
157
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
this period. In one exploit, on the night of March 28-29,
he brought into notable play the qualities which gave him
his special value as an intelligence officer. On Easter
Sunday, March 31, he writes to his mother:
I am going to enclose another shoulder strap of the 259th
German Reserve Infantry Regiment. It came from the blouse
of a prisoner. Keep it and if I can, later on, I will tell you some-
thing rather amusing in connection with it. By the way, too,
if you ever happen to see in the New York Times, or any other
illustrated paper, a picture showing four Germans guarded by
four American soldiers, the latter looking most amazingly tough
with clubs in their hands and their faces blackened like negro
minstrels, please cut it out and keep it. Don't spend any time
looking for it, but if you should see such a picture anywhere
about the same time you get this letter, save it.
With this casual mention. Redwood dismisses the
episode. Two years later, however. Private Edward V.
Armstrong, one of the thirty-two men under Redwood's
leadership in the Intelligence Department, gives a clearer
idea of what happened that black night at Seicheprey, and
at the same time brings out, with all the force of simple
words, the dominant part played in the critical moments
of Redwood's life by his religion. Writing to Redwood's
mother on Easter Sunday, 1919, Armstrong says:
Today brings to my mind a little incident that happened in
the Toul sector, when we took our first prisoners. The order
had just come in for Lieutenant Redwood to take some men on
patrol — that prisoners were wanted at once. It was just a few
days before Easter. The order came about one o'clock in the
morning, the Lieutenant asked for volunteers to go, and of
course all of us wanted to go with him. Well, he picked four
of us to go, and then prayed that we might be successful and
158
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
promised us that if we took prisoners he would read us the
Gospel on Easter Sunday. The five of us started out and got
into "No Man's Land" about 2 a.m. It was very dark, and
raining a great deal. We had a very hard time finding our way
and crawling around shell holes and through barbed wire. We
finally got over and into the German trenches and took our
prisoners and got back all right, because it was getting daylight.
Lieutenant Redwood had a very bad cold, and with the wet
and damp of that morning it rapidly became worse, so that on
Sunday he could not speak; but he had Lieutenant Birmingham
read the Gospel for him,
I am very sorry to say that out of those five men I am the
only one alive.
For this achievement Redwood was immediatelv cited
in the General Orders both of the First Division and of the
32d French Army Corps,^ received a special commendation
by order of General Pershing, and the posthumous award
of the Distinguished Service Cross. His letters went on as
if little out of the ordinary course of events had happened :
April 18.
The things were (and are, for we have n't finished them all
yet) splendid. The same day, too, I get your cablegram and it
was just like having a pressure of your hand. I thought at first
it was for Easter, then I concluded that you must have learned
through the papers or otherwise of our little adventure, which
in several ways was one of the quaintest bits of comic opera
(considering that it was really supposed to be war) that I have
run into. I was going to write, but suddenly got orders that
sent me off for a day on a special detail.
1 With the French Army citation tlie Croix de Guerre was awarded
to Redwood. Of him and his corporal it was declared: Ontfait preiive
des plus belles qualites militaires en penetram dans un paste d' observation
dont Us capturerent la garnison. AttaquSs par un parti ennemi, Vont
repousse en lui infligant des pertes et ont ramene quatre prisonmers.
159
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
April 28.
I was so pleased to hear from you again, and appreciated your
sending the news, which was the first ( and is so far the only) one
to reach me, though I judged some sort of account of our little
patrol had got out from a cable message I got from the mater.
The newspaper versions varied from facts at sundry points, but
here and there hit points quite correctly. One of the Boches
actually did say he wished his brother could be brought over,
too, when he found how well he was to be treated and that he
got white bread and real instead of substitute coffee.
One of them asked one of our men in an awestruck whisper,
"When are they going to shoot us?" {Wann werden sie uns
shiessen), and was relieved when told that we were not in the
habit of shooting our prisoners. Another, after they had been
safely brought behind the rear of our line, asked permission to
smoke; when it was granted he jauntily pulled forth a well-filled
cigarette case and offered it courteously to me before helping
himself.
Well, I had best close now and get this in. I should n't won-
der if I were in danger of exceeding censorship regulations by
going any further, though so far I think I am safe. It is strange
how much more the papers can publish than we can write.
May 3.
Well, being a suffragist, I suppose has to do some savage
hating or something of the sort. I hope she liked the piece of
uniform I sent her even if it was n't quite gory enough to suit
her fancy.
Honestly, I don't believe in this business of hating your
enemy. Robert W. Service's "Song of the Sandbags" (in
"Rhymes of a Red Cross Man") strikes a very true note. It is
pitiful when a Boche prisoner, clean cut and apparently a good,
intelligent little fellow, asks one of his captors in an awestruck
whisper, "When are they going to shoot us?" and after being
reassured says, "They told me 'Woe to you if the Americans
ever take you,' " and then adds, "We thought you were all going
160
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
to be Indians ! " It 's pleasant to see them, too, if scared, regain
confidence when they find that they are going to be well treated.
Some are frankly glad to have been captured, and all that I have
seen ploughing in the fields of France appeared quite contented
with their lot. En masse, of course, they are formidable, but
individually they don't seem to be so eager for a scrap from all
that I have heard and seen.
May 10.
Associated Press to the contrary notwithstanding, I am noth-
ing so exalted as a "Regimental Intelligence Officer." Battalion
Scout Officer is all I can lay claim to. That was how I happened
to get that job you have mentioned put upon my most unwilling
shoulders. Do not imagine for a moment that I was one bit
anxious to do it or anything of the kind. "Orders is orders,"
that is all.
Just at present I have the job of "Acting Battalion Adjutant,"
which is not my rightful one and which I hope — fervently —
soon to be rid of. It was through an unfortunate combination
of circumstances that I had that "greatness thrust upon me."
I should say "pettiness," for it seems to be nothing but the
remembering of countless details involving an extensive knowl-
edge of the battalion itself, of Army regulations, military eti-
quette, customs of the Service, Manual of Court Martial, etc.,
etc., etc., all of which my C. O. amiably presupposes I have —
and I have n't !
In the first week of April the first Division had been
withdrawn from the front line, to which it returned be-
fore the end of May, when the 28th Infantry performed its
important part in the action at Cantigny. In this engage-
ment, on May 28, Redwood was killed. For twelve suc-
cessive nights before the fight he made his way into the
German lines, and into the village of Cantigny, and
brought back not only the information which his good
161
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
knowledge of French and German enabled him to secure,
but also maps and plans of attack which contributed
directly to the capture of the place. "He would come in
about daylight," said a fellow-soldier, "covered with mud
from crawling around the trenches and under the barbed
wire, and looking like anything but an officer — change
his clothes, get a bite to eat and turn in for some sleep,
and do the same thing the following night until the entire
situation was clearly developed."
In the fight itself he displayed a bravery which any
soldier might envy as marking the last of his days.
Wounded in the battle, he returned to the fight after his
injury had been dressed in the shelter of a shell hole.
Wounded a second time, and more severelj^ he saved the
life of a corporal of his regiment, also gravely injured, by
helping him to the aid station, and insisted, when his own
wound was dressed, on returning a second time to the
fight, in spite of the fact that he had been tagged for the
hospital. It was then that he received the wounds that
caused his death. A French liaison officer attached to the
First Division said, when the war was over, "I would
rather have that man Redwood alive than to have taken
Cantigny."
The posthumous reward of the Distinguished Service
Cross, with the oak-leaf cluster which is bestowed for a
succeeding act justifying a similar award, was made in
the following terms:
George B. Redwood, first lieutenant, 28th Infantry. For
extraordinary heroism in action at Seicheprey, France, March
28th, 1918. With great daring he led a patrol of our men into
a dangerous portion of the enemy trenches, where the patrol
162
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
surrounded a party nearly double their own strength, captured
a greater number than themselves, drove off an enemy rescuing
party, and made their way back to our lines with four prisoners,
from whom valuable information was taken.
He is awarded an oak-leaf cluster, to be worn with the Dis-
tinguished Service Cross, for the following act of extraordinary
heroism: At Cantigny, France, May 29th, ^ 1918, he conducted
himself fearlessly to obtain information of the enemy's action.
Although wounded, he volunteered to reconnoitre the enemy's
line, which was reported to be under consolidation. While mak-
ing a sketch of the German position on this mission he was
under heavy fire, and continued his work after being fatally
wounded until it was completed. The injuries sustained at this
time caused his death.
In his own city of Baltimore Redwood's memory was
honored by the organization of the "George B. Redwood
Post, Veterans of Foreign Wars," and, even more notably,
by the change in the name of an important business
thoroughfare from German Street to Redwood Street.
In connection with this last tribute, Brigadier-General
Frank Parker, commanding the First Division of the
American Expeditionary Forces, sent the following mes-
sage to the Mayor of Baltimore on October 23, 1918:
News has reached this division that the City of Baltimore,
Maryland, has named one of its streets in memory of First
Lieutenant George B. Redwood, Intelligence Officer, 28th
United States Infantry, killed in action at Cantigny on the 28th
of May, 1918.
The First Division of the American Expeditionary Forces
desires to express to the City of Baltimore its profound satis-
faction in knowing of this tribute to one of its members — an
1 Actually May 28.
163
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
officer whose high example of all that is best in American man-
hood is a heritage of honor and pride which this Division shares
with his native city.
To Redwood's mother, General Parker wrote the fol-
lowing letter:
This command sends to you, through me, this expression of
pride, shared with you, in the record of your son.
No finer example of our nation has given his life for the Great
Cause. In our memory he marches in the van of the bravest and
best — those who sought the posts of the highest honor —
nearest the enemy.
The commemorative tablet in the Baltimore Cathedral,
mentioned on a previous page, was erected by the Lay
Council of the Cathedral, of which Redwood was a de-
voted member. His religion was so natural and essential
a part of his life that a fellow-officer wrote, with no ap-
parent surprise, after his death: "Men who went on
patrols with him have told me that after leaving the trench
and entering No Man's Land, he alwaj^s knelt in a shell-
hole and prayed, and that he was ever careful not to ex-
pose them needlessly in dangerous positions. He always
regarded his men. As to himself, he sought the place
of greatest danger, and fear was a word with which he
had no acquaintance. . . . To me Lieutenant Redwood
seems to have been the incarnation of the Christian
soldier."
Another friend, Stephen B. Luce, '09, has written, more
fully:
I think all who knew George Redwood would say that the
striking thing about his character was his deeply religious nature.
164
GEORGE BUCHANAN RED^YOOD
I have never known a man to whom Christianity meant more.
Unselfish service in every relationship in life was the keynote of
his life, and this unselfishness was founded on a firm belief in
the mercy of Christ, and His infinite love and wisdom. His
devotion to his mother and brother, and willingness to sacrifice
his own pleasure to give them and others pleasure were beauti-
ful things to look back upon. To him, more than to any man I
have ever known, the chance to serve his country in the war
and to rescue from utter darkness the principles of right, justice
and humanity, seemed a sacrament almost as sacred as the Holy
Communion. He was the true Crusader, who went to war for
an ideal, and to give his life, if need be, that the faith of his
fathers and the things of the spirit might be saved to the world.
Let no one suppose from this that George Redwood was a
prig. I think his decorations for heroism in action prove the
reverse. His sense of humor was original and charming. His
conversation and letters sparkled with wit, when with those he
knew well and to whom he had given his friendship. He had in
many ways the mind and tastes of the true scholar, in his de-
light in things of the intellect, and his fondness for digging into
old books. No one, however, was quicker to detect a sham than
he, and his wit in exposing it was never caustic or bitter, but
always kindly and charming.
One of the things that I have always thought of in connection
with George Redwood was the way he had been unconsciously
preparing himself for the great event of his life, so that when it
came, he was ready. In College he had been especially interested
in the German language and literature, and, while abroad in
1910, he learned to speak German like a native. His very good
natural talent at sketching and drawing he developed by attend-
ing classes in Baltimore after graduation from Harvard. His
lifelong, intelligent interest in military affairs made him an apt
student at the training camps. Above all, his deep faith in
Christ, and his unselfish nature made him an ideal officer, —
one who thought of the comfort and well-being of his men before
165
GEORGE BUCHANAN REDWOOD
he gave a thought to himself, and who, as a result, commanded
their unquestioning obedience and devotion.
What would George have done had he lived? I often wonder.
I feel that he would either have remained in the Army, or gone
into the Church. In the Army, he would have won promotion,
more decorations, probably the Congressional Medal ultimately.
Whatever course he would have taken, he would have been a
fighter, — battling for ideals and the souls of men, armed with
the faith that sets men free, and the devotion of a zealot, wear-
ing either the khaki of an officer or the black cloth of a clergy-
man, but in either case a true soldier of Christ.
166
HENRY CORLISS SHAW
Class of 1901
1 N the Harvard Roll of Honor, which includes the names
of members of the auxiliary services who died while en-
gaged in their duties overseas, there are two Y. M. C. A.
secretaries and Henrv Corliss Shaw was one of them.
He was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, November
2, 1877, the only son of the late Charles Russell Shaw and
Ella Hattie (Davis) Shaw. Cambridge was his home
167
HENRY CORLISS SHAW
throughout his Hfe. His earlier schooling was in the public
schools of that city and the Waltham (Massachusetts)
New Church — Swedenborgian — School for Boys. His
immediate preparation for college was made at the Browne
and Nichols School of Cambridge. He entered and grad-
uated from Harvard College with the Class of 1901, and
in 1904 graduated from the Harvard Law School. As an
undergraduate he was a member of the Pi Eta Society and
the Cercle Frangais. His social qualities found expres-
sion after his graduation in a small lunch club of friends
who supplemented their weekly meeting by "celebrations "
at odd times through the year. For these Shaw was a
moving spirit in the arrangement of entertainments, in
which he was wont to take an important part. He greatly
enjoyed "dramatics," and was in frequent demand by
his class and by charitable organizations to give mono-
logues. A lively sense of humor entered into both the
delivery and the invention of amusing stories. He was
fond of children, who in turn were eager to listen to him. It
was no unusual thing to see him with a child on his knee
telling a story which held the attention of the child and at
the same time kept a room full of its elders in laughter.
Shaw was a constant attendant at the Church of the
New Jerusalem (Swedenborgian) in Cambridge and took
a lively interest in its activities, both as president of its
Young People's League and as president of the Lynn
Neighborhood House conducted by the Church Society.
He was fond of outdoor sports and devoted much time
to tennis.
In Cambridge he practised law at one time as a member
of the firm of Shaw and Brooks; in Boston he began his
168
HENRY CORLISS SHAW
practice in the office of Myer and Brooks, and afterwards
opened an office of his own, sharing chambers, though not
in partnership, with three other young members of his
profession. There he was gradually building up a com-
fortable practice.
His first activities in connection with the war were
devoted to various "drives," Red Cross, Y. M. C. A.,
and the like. Not satisfied with this work he felt that,
although too old to enlist as a fighting man, he must do
something overseas and offered his services to the
Y. M. C. A. On March 30, 1918, in his forty-first year,
he sailed from New York on the Rochambeau as a "Y"
secretary.
His diary on the voyage and in France, his letters from
the stations in the neighborhood of towns at which he
served, are filled with happiness and satisfaction. At
St. Aignan, Mareuil, and other places he made himself
useful in a variety of ways, arranging cinema and musical
entertainments for the men about him, helping an Ameri-
can soldier to write to a French girl in her own language,
lending a hand at all manner of odd jobs. Urging a friend
in America to follow him into the overseas "Y" work, he
wrote, April 28: "You'll be glad as long as you live that
you came. It 's trulj^ the big adventure even for those of
us in this work." The humors of his surroundings were
not lost upon him. Witness an entry in his diary on May
5th: "The other evening before going to bed I asked
Madame D — — for a drink of water. She was quite willing
to get it but suggested that I have white wine instead. I
said no, water would be sufficient. Then she suggested
syrup in the water but I said no, only water. Then she
169
HENRY CORLISS SHAW
asked me if I had understood what she said and I told
her yes. Whereupon she brought me some water. By
that time I was a Httle nervous about the water myself,
but I had to see it through. So grasping it firmly and
thinking of Socrates and his cup of hemlock, I drank it
while IMadame and her mother watched me in horror.
The French, I think, consider water and air far more
dangerous elements than fire."
Shaw had been in active service little more than a month
when an army friend asked him, on May 28, to drive to
Tours in a inotor from a station not far bevond Mont-
richard. They crossed the Cher at that place, and soon
afterwards, when they were obliged to pass a vehicle at
one side and attempted to take the road again, their car
was overturned and Shaw was instantlv killed.
He was buried at Montrichard, May 30, Memorial Day,
1918. A service in his memory, attended by many mem-
bers of his class, was held in the Church of the New Jeru-
salem in Cambridge on June 13, and in October, 1920, his
body was brought to the United States and interred at the
Mount Auburn Cemetery.
Many letters to his family froin friends both at home
and abroad testified to the fact that in everything he
undertook he was conscientious to the last degree, full
of sympathy for others, finding nothing too trivial to
interest him if it concerned another's comfort, and never
permitting a word of praise for himself.
170
LIVINGSTON LOW BAKER
Class of 1913
JJORN at Sausalito, California, March 6, 1891, Livingston
Low Baker was a son of the late Wakefield Baker, of the
Harvard Class of 1887, and Coralie (Thomas) Baker. He
made his preparation for college at Phillips-Exeter Acad-
emy, entered Harvard with the Class of 1913, and took
his degree of Bachelor of Arts in regular course. In his
junior year he played on the class football team and was
leader of the University Banjo Club. He belonged also
to the Mandolin, Phillips, and Western Clubs.
Immediately upon his graduation he sailed for Europe
and spent the remainder of the year in travelling about
Germany, France, Switzerland, and England. Returning
with his brother via the West Indies and Panama Canal,
171
LIVINGSTON LOW BAKER
sailing from Balboa to San Francisco, he reached home
before Christmas, and on January 2, 1914, entered the
employ of the San Francisco firm of Baker and Hamilton
— of which his father had been president — wholesale
dealers in light and heavy hardware, sporting goods, agri-
cultural implements, and creamery machinery. In the
following year he was elected a director of the company,
which, on consolidation with the Pacific Hardware and
Steel Company, became known as the Baker, Hamilton,
and Pacific Company. The considerable interest of his
family in the Baker and Hamilton Company gave him
the opportunity to shift from one department of the busi-
ness to another, and to master its principles. He also de-
voted some attention to the California Building Material
Company, of which he became a director and treasurer.
In the Second Report of his class, he wrote of himself:
"Together with my duties of business, to which I devote
about eight hours a day, I have been putting in a couple
of hours on the study of corporation finance, investments,
and banking. That fills up the days. In the evenings I
accept all invitations offered."
In the same Report his military interest is first revealed :
"Last summer I spent the month of July at the Military
Training Camp at Monterey, and expect to attend the one
to be held at Santa Barbara this summer. In case of war
with Germany I shall enlist. P.S. My nickname is still
'JefT.'"
From what was obviously the beginning of a business
career of much promise, Baker turned promptly when the
United States entered the war. On July 3, 1917, he en-
listed as private, first class, Aviation Section, Signal Corps,
172
LIVINGSTON LOW BAKER
and was immediately detailed to the School of Military
Aeronautics in Berkeley, California. Here he graduated
with honors on September 1. On September 7 he started
East, and on September 24, after a brief stay at Fort
Wood, New York, sailed for Europe. From Southampton
he proceeded, about October 15, to Paris, whence he was
ordered to Foggia, Italy. There he arrived October 27.
In March, 1918, still at Foggia, he received his commission
as first lieutenant, and there, on June 1, he was killed in
an airplane accident.
The circumstances are fully related, and the young
officer's personal characteristics are shown forth, in two
letters, the first from an American lieutenant of aviation
to Baker's mother, the second, in translation, from an
Italian pilot instructor to his commanding officer:
June 3, 1918.
Livingston was in charge of the second brevet line. On this
morning he had taken up a machine to test the air for his men;
this is always done before the pupils are allowed to go up them-
selves. He had made a short tour around camp, and was coming
in over the barracks, about one hundred metres high, when he
made a sharp turn to come into the field. The machine was
banked up quite steeply, and instead of coming down in an easy
glide, it slid off on one wing and went into a slow spinning nose
dive. A second or so later it struck the roof of one of the han-
gars and then fell to the ground. Livingston was killed instantly.
The doctor said his neck was broken at the moment of impact.
The accident happened at about six o'clock, on the morning of
June 1.
The funeral was held at nine o'clock the next morning. He
was buried with full military honors, every officer and man in
camp attending. Planes circled over the cemetery all during the
services.
173
LIVINGSTON LOW BAKER
I do not believe there was a more popular fellow in camp than
Livingston His absence is felt very deeply by the whole com-
mand. We, his roommates, feel his cheery comradeship will
never be replaced.
FoGGiA, Italy,
June 1, 1918.
Commanding Officer:
Today the undersigned, an officer in the Italian Army, bows
before the bier of the American Lieutenant L. L. Baker, with
admiration and affection. Today America and Italy jointly
lose one of their best officers, one of the best pilots of the allied
aviation services. I am prompted to make this statement by
a feeling of esprit-de-corps; but further, if a simple and earnest
word dictated by the heart can assuage the grief and add to the
pride of remembrance of those who within a few days shall
mourn for him over there, I crave your permission to do so.
It was my pleasure to have Livingston L. Baker as my pupil
from first to second class. He showed himself to be an excellent
pilot and a fine boy ; I asked that he be detailed as instructor in
my district, and whenever I was called away by other duties it
was with a feeling of entire confidence that I left him in charge.
As an instructor he was first class and did excellent work until
his transfer to the bombing squadron compelled him to leave
the lines. While under instruction in the latter squadron I was
obliged to call him back to his first work as he was the only
one in whom I could place full and unlimited confidence. This
pleased him very much, as he was very fond of hard work, and
until this morning at six o'clock Livingston L. Baker has turned
out tens upon tens of pilots, and his teaching has been marked
by constant attention and conscientious activity During the
last few weeks I have had special opportunities of becoming
acquainted with him; I appreciated his companionship and I
have become attached to him with the strongest bonds of friend-
ship. He reported to me daily, three or four times. He was a
strict disciplinarian and always showed the utmost respect and
174
LIVINGSTON LOW BAKER
consideration to his superior, his chief pilot. I, on the other
hand, each time that he left me, shook his hand with a strong
grip and considered him as my friend, my best friend.
I do not know, sir, that I can add to the foregoing. I wish to
say, however, that the manly figure of L. L. Baker is indelibly
impressed on my heart and mind, and that if at some future
date I shall have the good fortune of meeting his parents I shall
feel proud to be able to say to them: "I was your son's friend;
he died a noble death for his country and for mine; I have ad-
mired him and I have loved him; you may well feel proud of
his memory."
Very respectfully,
L. Hermann di Targiana,
Chief Pilot Instructor, Foggia, South.
175
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
Law School 1912-13
Always do my best, always have the best, and always
be of the best." As a school-boy Ona Jefferson Myers
adopted this motto, and made up his mind to become a
lawyer — a course which could be accomplished only with
a large expenditure of effort. The event proved that the
standard he set for himself was not beyond his reach.
He was born near Elnora, Daviess County, Indiana,
December 14, 1888, the only son of Oliver Perry Myers
and Nora E. (Mize) Myers. When he was ten years old
his parents moved to southeast Missouri, and at Freder-
icktown, Missouri, he received his elementary and high
school education. In his junior year at the high school
he won the scholarship medal for making the best grades
176
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
during the year, and in his senior year again led the school,
but, because no student could receive a second medal,
was awarded a scholarship in a Presbyterian college. He
finished high school in May, 1906, and spent the summer
months of that year driving a mule in the North American
lead mines near by, earning something less than one hun-
dred and fifty dollars and spending nearly all of it for an
encyclopaedia. Knowing that he must provide in part for
his own legal education, he entered the Gem City Business
College at Quincy, Illinois, in September, 1906, and grad-
uated with such high grades that he was employed to
teach advanced bookkeeping in the school. When he had
taught for eleven months, the principal of the institution
offered him a ten-year contract to teach shorthand, but,
fearing that the acceptance of this position would turn
him from his chosen purpose, he resigned altogether and
in September, 1908, entered the Arts and Science Division
of the University of Missouri.
After three years at Missouri he went to the University
of Chicago (October, 1911), beginning his study of law
and accomplishing his work for the degree of Ph.B., cum
lande, in the summer of 1912. The next academic year
he spent at the Harvard Law School. In October, 1913,
he returned to Chicago, completed his studies, and was
graduated in August, 1914, with the degree of J.D. cum
laude.
The following winter (February, 1915) he entered the
law offices of Messrs. Story and Story, at Ouray, Colorado.
His parents possess only one letter written home at that
time. Thus, in part, it read:
177
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
Ouray, Colorado,
Sunday, February 28, 1915.
I will soon have been here a month. While this is not a good
place to stay permanently, because it is too small, yet I feel it
is a very good place for me for a few years. There is an oppor-
tunity here for me to work into a pretty good place in Salt Lake
City. Whether I shall take advantage of that opportunity de-
pends on whether I can give up some ideals of mine. It means
that I would have to become a corporation lawyer. Although
that is the most profitable kind of work, I have always had the
feeling that it was not the best kind of work to do. I have
always thought I would rather be a help to, and the lawyer of,
the laborer and the farmer. I realize, however, that there is an
opportunity for a corporation lawyer to help the laborers much.
. . . But this a question I shall have to fight out for myself.
Whatever the decision, I do not believe I shall need to call
on you for help any more. You have stuck by me through thick
and thin. I realize that it has meant many sacrifices by you;
it has meant your denying yourself many things that you longed
for and often needed. Your faith in me and my abilities —
proved in the one way that is beyond question, by your personal
sacrifices — the memory of your faith in me and the realization
of the sacrifices you were making that I might make something
worth while out of myself have spurred me on whenever I have
felt like "chucking" education aside and getting a job as a
stenographer or what not, with no chance for doing things
worth while. Your faith in me has made me ashamed of myself
whenever I have felt like quitting, and has given me renewed
confidence in myself.
I know that with the means you had no parents ever did more
for their son, and none ever did it more unselfishly. I can never
even up the obligation which you thereby have placed me
under. I cannot write or speak all that I feel and would like
to say on such a subject; but I am sure you will understand; I
know you would understand even though I said nothing. My
178
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
obligation is very great and I only hope that I may do enough
good in the world so that your sacrifices will not have been in
vain and so that your hopes and faith in me will not have been
disappointed dreams.
Your sacrifices, your faith in me, my knowledge of your
simple, honest lives have made me so honor you and feel so
proud of you that I have been enabled to refrain from doing
many things that young fellows are tempted to do. I was so
proud of you that I had strength of will enough not to do things
which would make you ashamed of me.
Two fellow-students of law with Mvers at the Uni-
versity of Chicago, one of them also a fellow-student at
Harvard, have written letters in which the impression he
made upon his contemporaries during his years of prepara-
tion for the law is clearlv indicated. Mr. C. M. Ozias
wrote from Fresno, California :
It was in June of 1911 that Jeff, with another companion
whose name I have now forgotten, came up from the University
of Missouri and occupied an adjoining room in the apartment
house in which I was staying, out near the site of the University
of Chicago. I was then a student in the Law School. Jeff had
no difficulty in securing an excellent position down town in
Chicago as a stenographer during that summer and in the
autumn he began the study of law at the University. We be-
came friends — friends upon the tennis court — friends at our
daily meals and in the library — friends for strolls through the
parks and by the lake — friends in that intimate, social inter-
course wherein our hopes, our aspirations, our plans and dreams
for the future were the absorbing topic of our conversation.
When the University opened in the autumn, I had some
opportunity of seeing him in action. He was passionately am-
bitious. He was an indomitable worker. Work was his re-
ligion, although he could play like a truant. His brilliant record
179
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
as a scholar and orator at Missouri, Chicago, and Harvard
speaks for itself. I can safely say, without fear of exaggeration,
that he had one of the most brilliant minds of any person I have
ever known. After I graduated from the University in June of
1912, we corresponded at irregular intervals. How fine, how
full of his irrepressible enthusiasm and determination, how
marked with manifestations of his high ideals, and yet how im-
mensely human, were those letters he wrote to me! At the close
of one of them which was rather long (but not too long) and
which I have preserved and treasure, he said in his winsome,
apologetic style, "Goodness, how much I have written and I
started out only to write a page. Ozias, I certainly have a
deep-seated friendliness towards you." I could ask for no
higher tribute.
From the Ohio State University Law School, Mr. J. W.
Madden wrote:
When I went to the Law School at Chicago in 1912, Jeff was
there and I immediately recognized in him an unusual man and
student. That autumn I decided to go to Harvard for a year
and it was a happy surprise to find that Jeff had taken the same
notion. We were intimate there, went to New Haven together
for the Yale-Harvard game, and worked together in a club
court competition in which he was the principal factor in win-
ning the prize for our club, and a little cash for six of us, most
of whom needed it badly. We were back at Chicago the next
summer and year, and his splendid work enabled him to do me
many favors. He took up golf for recreation and interested
me in it, and we often went out at four o'clock in the morning
to play a round.
Everyone marveled at the ease with which he supported him-
self and still Nept in the front rank in his studies, while the rest
of us had as much as we could do to keep the pace set by our
teachers. I remember how he told me, in the summer of 1914,
that he was doing free work for the Legal Aid Society and I
180
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
wondered how he could find the time, but he did find it and time
for everything else too.
His degree was conferred "with honor" as was fitting, for
he did everything with honor.
As war approached Myers began to make ready for his
part in it. As early as November, 1916, he answered a
notice printed in The Saturday Evening Post by an aero-
plane company which offered training for reserve avi-
ators. Failing at first to get the desired information, he
communicated wdth the War Department, the three univer-
sities with which he had been connected, and the federal
recruiting office at Denver. In April, 1917, one of his
letters to Washington was answered and late in May he
received instructions to report for examination at Fort
Omaha, Nebraska, on June 5. "I wanted so much to get
into aviation service," he wrote in a diary he was keeping
at this time, "because it seemed to me that the one
life I had would be able to render a service there many
times greater than anywhere else."
Having passed his examinations for the aviation service
he was detailed after settling his affairs at Ouray, to
Austin, Texas, for ground training. From August, 1917,
until he met his death June 1, 1918, in an aeroplane acci-
dent near Chateau-roux in France, where he was flying
for his last half-hour of training, having received his com-
mission as second lieutenant in the Air Service, May 18,
his experiences were largely those of the routine of prepa-
ration for the aviator's work at the front. A comrade
through all this period has related its circumstances in the
following letter :
181
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
Dallas, Texas,
August 2,1919.
Jeff and I were classmates in the ground school at Austin.
I remember the day he entered, as we had adjoining bunks.
We studied at the same table and ate adjoining each other at
the mess, so I probably knew him better than any other cadet
in the school, with one exception. At ground school Jeff was
the best student in his class; he was a model pupil and held
the respect of all his teachers and classmates. On our gradua-
tion, October 21, 1917, we were allowed two days at home and
on or about October 24 we, the class, were sent in a private car
to Garden City, New York. There we waited until November
23, all anxious and eager to get over in France to do our part
against the Huns.
We landed in Liverpool December 7, having a pleasant trip
across on the good ship Baltic. From Liverpool we were sent
to Winchester, a big rest camp a few miles southwest from
London. There we first tasted the privation of war, there being
little fuel, lights, or pleasure to hasten or make pleasant those
bitterly cold, gloomy days of December. The British were low
in spirit on account of the Cambrai failure and then and there
we realized that we were up against a strong, powerful enemy.
From Southampton we sailed to Le Havre, crossing the rough
channel on a cattle boat, cold and crowded. We slept eleven
men to the tent in Le Havre and there we first learned that we
were classed as enlisted men and went through all the hard work,
discipline, and drill of any other enlisted man. At last we were
sent to St. Maixent, a charming little town in between Poitiers
and Niort. W^e had hopes there was a flying school there, but
we soon realized that we were in the most inefficient branch of
the Army and it would be months before we began our training.
We did guard duty, fatigue, drilled, and unloaded provisions,
cooked, etc., from December to April.
In April about ten of us were sent to Chateau-roux to be
attached to the French Army for our flying. Jeff was put in
182
ONA JEFFERSON MYERS
charge of the detachment, although I was a sergeant and out-
ranked him. This shows how capable and responsible he was.
He conducted us to Chateau-roux and remained in charge of us
until his death. Jeff was a good pilot. He finished his brevet
ahead of time and had to do some extra flying to make up the
required twenty-five hours of actual time in the air. On the
day of his death he was out taking pictures with his kodak. He
evidently flew too low, for he slid over a wing and, not having
altitude, crashed into the ground before he could regain con-
trol of his airplane. His airplane was a Caudron, a machine
tried and tested and a good one. No one tampered with his
machine, and he had absolutely not an enemy in France as far
as I know. His death was due, no doubt, to over-confidence,
for little did we know then in our enthusiasm the necessity, so
well drilled in, but to no effect, of the danger of flying low. Jeff
in his enthusiasm for taking pictures forgot his altitude and
crashed into the ground.
He was buried with full military honors, and cadets and the
French officers and the French people covered his coffin with
floral wreaths. His grave is well marked, and along with the
other cadets killed at Chateau-roux he sleeps.
In September, 1920, his body was returned to the
United States and funeral services were held on October
10, at the home of his parents in Boonville, Indiana. "He
was a Christian that lived up to his faith," wrote the
friend who has just been quoted, " and a soldier that knew
no fear."
183
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Class of 1908
X HiLip Washburn Davis, born at West Newton,
Massachusetts, March 10, 1888, was a son of Samuel War-
ren Davis, of the Harvard Class of 1877, a teacher in the
Newton High School for most of his life, and for many
years head of its Department of Latin. Mary Elizabeth
(Washburn) Davis, his wife, died in 1896. Philip Wash-
burn Davis's older sister, Amelia Washburn Davis, a
184
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Y. M. C. A. canteen and library worker in France during
the greater part of her brother's service as an aviator over-
seas, has written a personal letter about him, portions of
which may well be repeated here, though some of the facts
to which she refers anticipate the story still to be told.
My brother was a boy of strong affections and enthusiasms,
but restrained, as the best New Englanders are. He had a
burning passion for justice and an adventurous spirit which was
masked to some extent b^^ nonchalant humor and argumentative
contrasts. He quite casually mentioned to me that he had ap-
plied for service in the United States Aviation as soon as we de-
clared war, and never referred to it again to anybody, as far as
I can learn. He received no reply, and the next I knew of his
plans, he was signing up with the Norton-Harjes Ambulance
Unit. If the French Aviation was in his mind before he started,
he never told; but he certainly signed up with them as soon
as he could on arrival. He told us that he had found the need
greater than was understood over here, the Ambulance Service
not the best he could give, and ambulance men talking of going
over for a good time! That settled it for him.
As a little boy, my brother was very sensitive and responsive
to fine things, fond of stories, but especially fond of games, and
how hard and well he did play ! He kept right on being a good
sport, and college and business developed social qualities which
overcame his extreme shyness, but left him with a pleasant dif-
fidence in meeting people. His combination of gentleness with
high spirits made him generally attractive. Life was very much
of a game to him, and because he possessed a good mixture of
caution and dash, victory often came to him. It was character-
istic of him to want to get to the top, not to beat other people
but to do whatever he did as well as it could be done. . . .
He was faithful not only to the big loyalties and duties, but
to the little things which so many men neglect. He had a tre-
mendous sense of justice, and I should not give the right im-
185
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
pression of him if I suppressed his vehement expression of
opinion. If, on further evidence, he changed his opinion, he
recorded the fact. He did not complain about personal hard-
ships, and they were pretty severe, at Plessis-Belleville, for in-
stance. Clean and healthy, and appreciating the good things
of life, he nevertheless prided himself on being able to adapt him-
self to changed conditions.
So he appeared in retrospect to one who knew him most
completely. The outward circumstances of his life before
the war may be briefly summarized. Like his father be-
fore him, he made his preparation for college at the New-
ton High School. Entering Harvard in 1904, he graduated
cum laude, in 1908. In his junior and senior years, re-
spectively, he won the benefits of the John Appleton
Haven and C. L. Jones Scholarships. In his senior year,
besides, he was named for a Disquisition. His athletic
interests were those of track (hurdling) and tennis, in each
of which he was proficient; nor did his tennis playing
cease with college. On his graduation he entered the Boston
office of Lee, Higginson and Company, with which he re-
mained for two years. After this experience, and an as-
sociation with a smaller house, he became a partner in the
investment firm of Chamberlain and Davis, with which
he was associated when the United States joined the bel-
ligerent nations.
Of Davis's activities and characteristics during this
period, and with special reference to his business partner-
ship, it is written in the Decennial Report of the Class of
1908:
The certain and rapid success of that business is shown not
so much by the financial good standing which he fairly won as
186
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
by the confidence and respect of his clients. That their inter-
ests were his own, and that his sound judgment and prompt
decision were always at their service, is attested by the many
letters received by members of his family. They express not
only regret for the loss of a man of sterling character and fine
personality, but a very personal bereavement on the part of
those who had come to depend upon his advice. These letters
surely prove the usefulness of the honorable business man. Giv-
ing himself whole-heartedly to business, and working early and
late when its needs required, he nevertheless found time for a
surprising number of avocations. He was keenly alive to all
interests of the day, without losing his love of poetry, plays, and
economic theory. He could enjoy a game of chess at breakfast
and still not neglect the morning paper, and would dash off to
business just as merry and eager at one pursuit as at another.
His athletic activities never flagged. He belonged to several
tennis clubs and won some local tournaments. He was a mem-
ber of the First Corps, Cadets.
Davis made his first attempt to enter the aviation serv-
ice on the very day after the United States declared war.
His next step has already been mentioned. In "Har-
vard's Military Record in the World War" the essential
facts of his military record are given as follows: "En-
listed private Foreign Legion, June 9, 1917; transferred to
Aviation Service and detailed to Schools of Military Avia-
tion, Avord and Pan, June 15 to October 28; breveted
pilot October 26 and promoted corporal; detailed to Aerial
Gunnery School, Cazaux; honorably discharged February
1918. Commissioned 2d Lieutenant Aviation Section,
Signal Corps, February 23, 1918, in France; assigned to
94th Pursuit Squadron April 1; killed in action June 2,
1918, in Toul Sector." His training at Cazaux was fol-
lowed by a brief period at G. D. E. (Le Plessis-Belleville).
187
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
In "The Lafayette Flying Corps" the following character-
ization of him, embodying the impression he made upon
his aviation comrades, is found:
Davis was older than most of those who went through the
schools with him, less boisterous and less given to dissertation
on his flying prowess. Quiet and pleasant in manner, he was one
of the coolest and steadiest of pilots, completing with honor the
difficult Bleriot training and leaving an excellent record at Pau.
He was one of those men who have little to say, but may be
counted on in any emergency. After his transfer to the United
States Air Service, Davis went to the front with the 94th Pur-
suit Squadron, then operating in the Toul Sector. On June 2,
1918, while protecting an English bombing flight, he attacked
six German single-seaters and was shot down in Hames within
the enemy lines.
Philip Davis is mourned by the many friends to whom his
fine qualities had endeared him. At his death the Service lost
a very gallant officer, under whose serene and quizzical exterior
lay a true devotion to duty and the steadfast courage which
asks no odds of Fate.
There is, besides, in the Decennial Report of the Class
of 1908, a letter from Major Douglas Campbell (Harvard,
'17), American ace, a portion of which serves well to place
Davis among his filing comrades :
The 94th Aero Squadron, later famous as Eddie Ricken-
backer's outfit, was organized and sent to the front in March,
1918, as the first really American air unit to get into action. There
were eighteen pilots in the squadron who had just finished their
schooling and were anxious to learn the game of knocking Huns
out of the sky, and Phil Davis and myself were two of them. We
were assigned to the 3d flight, or subdivision, of the squadron,
with the result that we generally went on the same patrols;
consequently I knew Phil pretty well There is something about
188
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
flying over the lines with a man which draws you to him, in spite
of the fact that you are not in speaking contact with him at the
time. Quiet and unobtrusive, but a hard, conscientious worker,
Phil soon made a warm place for himself in my heart and in
those of the other members of our eager and enthusiastic family
of prospective Boche-getters.
With passages from a journal which Davis kept in
France, and from his letters, it is possible and profitable
to clothe these external records and impressions with some-
thing of his personality. The following quotations speak
for themselves :
Saturday I went up to Dr. Gros' again and after trying my
eyes again, he said, no, it was too bad, but I could n't get by.
I talked with him a while, told him I was good at tennis and
seemed to be able to see perfectly. Finally he said, "Well,
stand up near and read it with both eyes," which I naturally
did, as I could read it way back with my left eye. And so I got
by and signed up with the Lafayette Flying Corps, Now I am
waiting to hear from the French Government in regard to my
application. I think there is no danger of not being accepted
after Dr. Gros' approval.
June 8, 1917.
I sometimes wonder what kind of a mess things will be in
when the war is over. Will the soldiers go back to work, for when
one thinks of it, they have been leading a lazy, easy life of it,
and not so much excitement as one might think either. And, too,
will the women go back to the homes? They have found out
that they can run things just as well as men.
On the other hand, will the war ever be over or will it end in
a compromise and break out again? The plight of the Allies ap-
pears to be much worse than I had imagined. An old ambulance
driver who is now going into the aviation told me that he thought
that the morale of the Germans is better than that of the Allies,
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
They have stopped everything that the Allies have started, they
are relying on their submarine campaign with the greatest con-
fidence, and lastly they are held better in hand — they are not
such independent thinkers. He says that he thinks the Allies
would have quit if the United States had not come into the fight.
France does seem to have great confidence in what we are go-
ing to be able to do to help them.
June 2^.
The people at home simply cannot sympathize fully in this
great struggle, separated from the conflict by the expanse of the
Atlantic Ocean. When the Army gets over here and friends and
relatives begin to get killed, things will be different. This is the
way I understood the situation : — My position in the reserves
was uncertain. Nobody knew what was going to be or could be
done with them. The only reason I was glad to get away was
so that I would not have the uncertainty hanging over me all
the time with the chance of doing guard duty at the East Boston
Gas Works during the whole war. You remember M did
not know whether he was going to be allowed to go to Plattsburg
or not. I have just received a letter from E saying that I
was right in what I said about the federal oath last summer and
bewailing his fate that the red tape stopped him from going to
Plattsburg until it was too late Now he expects to go to war
as a private under the command of D or W — — or some of
the other boys who did not take the oath. Of course if they
want me back I will come, but I do not think there is any likeli-
hood of it now, inasmuch as there is no possibility of getting any
such training for war aviation in the United States as here.
When I came over here I was to enlist for six months' service.
As things have come out I have felt called upon to enlist for
the duration of the war. I do not like to be a pessimist, but if
the war lasts long, in this aviation game, — well, they have to
keep training a bunch of new pilots for service at the front.
What new rulings they have made in regard to the Guard Re-
serve I don't know. Mr. C. is doubtless right in what he says.
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
It is no more than I expected, that we would be called out just
like ordinary citizens, regardless of our training.
July 34.
Instead of having too much time on my hands, I have too
little now. You see I have learned just enough about avion
motors and compliances and mitrailleuses so that I know where
to go to get more information and what books to read. The
evolution of the airplane is marvellous. A machine is out of
date in two months. First the Germans have one that the
French can't touch, and then the French have one that the Ger-
mans can't get near. When I first came down here they had
just got out a new machine that was supposed to beat every-
thing up to that time. Now a new model of another machine
is about to displace that. The way they keep cutting down the
wings I think soon they will have nothing but a box and motor.
The tremendous speed that is necessary to keep these almost
wingless fellows in the air makes landing difficult. One has to
leave and approach the ground at seventy miles an hour. A
less speed means pancaking, and, of course, a smash.
Juhj 28.
The machine we are driving now is somewhat different from
the penguin. It will fly all right. I went off the ground five or
six feet, much to the monitor's disgust this morning. I told
you how one of the fellows smashed on his first sortie. It was
most artistic too. The oldest men even claimed it was the most
complete wreck they had ever seen. Nothing was left intact.
You see he went into the ground with full motor on, an unpar-
donable offense. I saw a lieutenant turn upside down today.
He made a very poor attervisage, as they call it, and bounced up
about thirty feet. He had presence of mind enough to put on
his motor and save himself, but he smashed one wheel all to
pieces the first time, so we watched to see what would happen
on the second landing. The result was just what might be ex-
pected, he came down perfectly and redressed all right. But
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
when he settled on to the ground, naturally there was a sort of
one sided flop, and over she went. When he crawled out from
under, he looked just as crestfallen as I felt after my experience
with the penguin.
Camp Avord, Cher.
September 26, 1917.
Two or three weeks ago I read in the Outlook a fragment
entitled "The Diary of a Coward." As the editor suggested, it
struck me that the man was not a coward at all. I have since
wondered whether I judged him leniently because my own sen-
sations are not dissimilar to his.
I did not have the same choice that he did. I was called upon
to enter the fray from a sense of duty. The question with me
was whether to go into this, as it appears to me, the most dan-
gerous branch of the service, aviation. I chose it partly be-
cause it seemed the most valuable thing to do and one for which
I was rather well suited, partly because it was a very interesting
pursuit, in which I should not fret with inaction as I should in
other branches of the service, as I very well know from my ex-
perience in the militia.
I feel that I have gone into something which will probably
cause my death in a longer or shorter space of time, if I continue
in it, and that I intend to do. If the war lasts a year, a mighty
small number of aviators now in training for the front are going
to go back home, I 'm thinking. Now the prospect of death gives
me a disagreeable feeling. I don't want to die. I avoid taking
chances of getting killed. I feel confident, however, that my
sense of duty, or is it horror of the shame of being thought the
coward? — I can scarcely discriminate sometimes — will always
overweight this fear and keep me on my course.
For all this, I do not mean to say that there is forever a sword
above my head. On the contrary, with easy lack of foresight, I
forget the danger that I face, I put it aside, I refuse to admit its
presence. I have accustomed myself to more dangerous con-
ditions than I had previously lived under and I expect to ac-
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
custom myself to still more dangerous ones so that I can live
in comfort even then. We have that to see.
When I step into the machine for my tour I am less nervous
I think than the average student pilote here. I am no more
nervous than when I line up on the cinder track to hear the
starter's pistol. Once away in the air I am just as eager and
interested as ever I was to run a foot race or to play a tennis
match. Yet if I thought of my chances of breaking my neck,
I wonder how I should feel. Sometimes I say — now I will say
to myself "Suppose this wire should break or the machine
should catch fire." Still I refuse, in the bottom of my heart,
to harbor the possibility of such events.
If I live through this experience, it will perhaps be as much
pleasure to me to read these lines as it would have been to the
"Coward" to have read what he had written, had he lived. If
I meet his fate somebody else may read this, with I hope a little
respect. An expression of honest feeling, however crudely ex-
pressed, should be valuable by its rarity.
The Germans, in my opinion are fundamentally wrong in
their impression of the relation between the state and the in-
dividual, but I am not sure that that people is not better off that
worships the state as a god than a race that is so enamoured of
individual freedom that it cannot make sacrifices to preserve it.
BouRGES, November 21, 1917.
Ely and I were to fly together and were to meet 1000 metres
above Latlas, or however the little town is spelled. We had
arranged to go to Lourdes. We went all right; but as we had
different ideas of where the town lay we did n't stay together
long. I went down the river but did n't find Lourdes, as the
town was the other way. However, I found another town off
across the country which I have since found out was Daz. It
lies on each side of a little river. There seems to be a trolley
connecting the two parts of the town. After leaving Daz I
headed for the Pyrenees and let the machine climb. When I
got up to '2000 metres I noticed over toward the mountains an
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
edge of white which proved to be clouds. Below was a dull haze,
through which it was impossible to see clearly, in fact the moun-
tains were not visible. Above, however, the peaks showed forth
as distinctly as could be through a clear atmosphere. As I
climbed and looked down on the field of clouds which extended
away from the peaks for some miles I was more and more happy
to think that I was having the opportunity of seeing such a sight.
I let the machine get up to 5000 metres and then slid back home
in one steady pique. Ely and I had been out two and one-half
hours, but we put down our time as an hour and a half so as to
get as much flying as possible.
The next day Ely and I met again but did n't stay together
as he wanted to go to the Pyrenees and I to Lourdes. I took in
all the little towns up the valley above Pau to Lourdes and
cruised in among the foot-hills of the Pyrenees at a low altitude.
Here again I put in over two hours but counted it as an hour
and a half. In the afternoon we were to do another hour but
put in about two hours practising spirales over all the towns in
the valley.
The next day we had vol de groupe in the 15 metres 110 H. P.
I was chef de groupe and had two Frenchmen with me. We all
wanted to go to Biarritz and for once did our work right, meet-
ing as agreed and flying in perfect formation the whole way. It
was a fine trip and a great sight to see the old sea once more.
Biarritz looks pretty from the air, the light-house, the beach,
and cliffs. Bayonne too shows out clearly at the mouth of the
river. One of the others and I flew out well over the ocean and
spiraled down to see the town. A walk down the cliff shows out
like a big S. On the way back I slowed down and waved to the
other fellow to go ahead so that I could have some practice fol-
lowing. At the end I stopped to practise spiraling. I made a
continuous left and then immediate right without stopping and
did n't lose my stick as the fellows all claimed I would. I also
slowed it down to all but a standstill and then piqued sharply
and speeded it up again.
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
In the afternoon Ely and I were to fly together again but he
said he was not going to do any more foohsh tricks and I wanted
to go over to the Pyrenees again. It is wonderful over among
those mountains. I went over past the range of mountains be-
yond the Pic du Midi d'Ossau, over Spain and looked down the
valleys on the other side. What a long time it seems to take to
come to that peak, but how you do tear by when you get there !
One would n't have much luck landing en panne up in those
snowy mountains. You can see a lot of country from an aero-
plane. It is interesting to see the little French settlements way
up on the mountain slopes, ten or twelve houses and a group of
cultivated fields. Then there is the road and railroad way down
in the valley leading up to the Pic du Midi with little villages
here and there. I flew most at 3600 to 3800 metres just under
the clouds where it was very rough, I will say. It seemed as
though I would hit the ranges as I came to them although as a
matter of fact Midi is only 2885 and is the highest right there.
Pau, Basses Pyrenees,
December 1, 1917.
Since living with the French here at Pau I have experienced
another change in my feelings toward them, finding them not
such bad sports after all. We meet a much better type down
here, fellows who have much more ability in aviation and also
what is best of all, a mighty good sense of humor.
What leads to a great deal of misunderstanding is our lack of
knowledge of the French language. I learned more French in
the first two days here than in the preceding five months, being
in a barrack with about thirty Frenchmen and only six Ameri-
cans. I would have been sorry to have had to move into this
barrack of Americans only, had it not been for the fact that we
were imposing on the Frenchmen every night when we opened
up the windows. How those boys do hate fresh cold air!
My feeling towards the Germans has changed a great deal
too. I am getting sick of all this propaganda against them. Bet-
ter give them their due. They started a lot of things which the
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Allies have since adopted, and this propaganda is one of them.
The Allies have seen its effectiveness and have been forced to
employ the same tactics themselves. Most of these stories about
the cruelty of the Germans are talk or find parallels on the side
of the Allies. The Allies tell about the Boche dropping bombs
on a hospital; but they don't say that there was a big munition
station which was placed right beside the hospital and in its
shelter, which was the Germans' real objective. I am just as
much opposed to the German idea and its system and just as
much determined to do my share to help overthrow the system,
even while I admire its effectiveness; but that the Germans are
fiends, or any different from the men who are fighting on the
side of the Allies, I cannot see.
Verrines,
January 20, 1918.
Pick Chapman and I are still looking for jail though we may
have escaped. We landed in Le Plessis-Belleville on the ap-
pointed day, the 13th, and signed up but as our baggage had
not come from Cazaux we refused to go out to Verrines. The
next day we decided to go back to Paris and see if we could sign
up in the naval aviation rather than continue in this uncertainty.
Of course we had no tickets or 'permissions. We had no
trouble getting on the train at Plessis, just walking around a
barn to the track as the train came in. We did, however, have
a narrow escape getting out at Paris. We intended to get out
at the station before Paris, but finding that it was way up above
the street and enclosed by a high iron fence we decided to take
our chances in the big station.
We walked down the platform with the rest of the people
until we got near the gate where they were taking tickets. Then
we began cutting across the tracks which were depressed a bit
and made us an object of more or less suspicion. Pick dove
through another gate, which by the best of luck was open, with
me about four yards in back of him. Then I heard the guard
calling ''Billets, billets.'' Pick looked around and increased
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
his pace and I did n't lose any distance to him, I can say. Then
the guard took to crying "Teekets, teekets," but I never looked
to right or left, although all the people in front of me looked
around. So Pick and I kept irresistibly on and shooting be-
tween two gendarmes, who had no time to ask us for our 'per-
missions, were shortly in the streets of Paris.
They were taking no more pilotes in the naval aviation, how-
ever, so in a way we had our trip for nothing, except a good meal
at Drouant's and a good bed and bath at the Hotel Madison.
The Americans are not in high favor here. Our treatment is
very different from that which we enjoyed at Cazaux, where we
were treated like guests and ate at the sous-qfficiers^ mess.
Gengoult, just outside of Toul,
April 12, 1918.
When I read these newspapers I certainly get hot. I don't
see where we can give ourselves any particular credit over the
Germans. As far as the Government deceiving the people is con-
cerned, we are in as bad a case as they are. Whenever we hear
of "the enemy suffering heavy losses," we know that they have
advanced ten or fifteen kilometres. Strategic retreat and
strategic out-salients always produce a smile. If we could be-
lieve accounts every German on the face of the earth would be
dead by now. Yet they tell us that there are three Boches for
every two of the Allies on the W^estern Front. Can you beat it?
On the same page of the paper one reads "Huns bomb Paris.
Sixty women and children victims of barbarous attacks." "Our
airmen do fine work. Two hundred kilos of explosives dropped
on German towns."
After this war is over I hope the people will cook this deceit
on the part of their governors. I hope they will insist on getting
the truth, good news and bad impartially.
Sometime I am going to take time to write some of the stories
I have heard in this aviation game.
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Gengoult, Toul,
April 28, 1918.
I sometimes think that the Germans will win this war even if
they lose. We pretend to be fighting for democracy but we are
adopting all the methods of the so hated Prussian aristocracy.
The worst of all is the way our war lords are deceiving the
people. I do not complain that each one of us is in entire igno-
rance of what is going on around us. I will even submit to the
senseless eccentricities of the censorship. But news at least can
be truthful. Events past and over with can be told whether
good or bad.
Are we a race of babies, of quitters, that we must have our
courage buoyed up by false assertions of success? Would we
not fight the harder and the more determinedly if we hear of
failures and misfortunes? These things are but to be overcome.
Many a sluggard back home perhaps would be aroused from
his indolence to turn back the tide sweeping in upon us.
Yet on our bulletin board is a notice: "Never criticize your
superiors or express your opinion on the conduct of the war.
Avoid giving the impression of pessimism by your words and
actions."
The attitude of our leaders is shown in the newspapers. De-
feats are smothered up as long as possible. Reports of victories
are allowed to be published no matter how unfounded on fact.
We know little except what happens near us ; yet how different
are the newspaper stories from the actual facts.
The censorship finds it impossible to stop the publication of
the rumor that the Americans captured 200,000 Germans, in-
cluding the Crown Prince, but succeeded in preventing the
publication of the fact that the Germans went through to the
American third line trenches and that the French were called
in to save the situation.
No wonder the people back home think our boys are a
race of demi-gods and that a handful of them are enough to
throw back the invading Huns. No wonder they lie back
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
and say, "This thing will be finished up soon without effort on
our part."
The worst sort of pessimism is fear of pessimism. There is
something the matter with leaders whose actions cannot be
talked about.
I thought I was fighting for personal liberty, for individual-
ism. Where is our victory if this is gone?
The French have not given up their personal rights and yet
have shown themselves the best fighters. May we imitate them
rather than the Prussians.
The old Lafayette Flying Corps is sufl^ering its losses these
days. Chuck Kerwood got his a little while ago. Woodward is
missing and now Stanley writes that Herm Whitmore is missing.
Hitchcock has been missing some time after getting two Bodies.
Collins was brought down after getting three Boches. Collins,
Hitchcock, and Whitmore were great pilots too.
Dinsmore Ely has just been killed in an accident at Villa-
coublay. Some of the finest fellows in the bunch have gone.
Dave Putnam has certainly made up for some. He has
brought down about eight Boches now. According to the pa-
pers. Rat Booth has brought down his second Boche and is get-
ting married to celebrate. Duke Sinclair was over on the piste
the other day. He has a Boche, a croix de guerre at any rate.
He refuses to accept an immediate sous-lieutenancy because he
wants to get three Boches first and a medaille militaire.
Gengoult, Toul,
May 5, 1918.
The war is claiming victims near at home now. Pick Chap-
man was brought down in the German lines two days ago. He
was the one fellow I was most intimate with, a fine boy, too, and
most pleasing companion.
We came over on the Chicago at the same time. We were
together at Avord and roomed together in the old stable bar-
racks in the artillery camp. We were at Pau together and at
Cazaux. Of our seven at Cazaux, three have gone, Pick, Dins-
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
more Ely, and Herm Whitmore, three of the best too. Then we
were at Plessis-Belleville together and left to join the American
Army. We were at Issoudun and roomed together at Villeneuve
and here. My other room-mate, Cunningham, is going to leave
soon on account of his eyes so that I shall be quite lonely.
This squadron certainly has its hands full in good weather
and when they want us to furnish a patrol down to the east of
Luneville also, they surely can figure that we are earning our pay
even with the flying premium which we are not getting. Before
the good weather started, everybody wanted to go up on all the
alerts that came in. Now some of us, of whom I admit I am
one, are not too sorry to see a little rain so that we can rest up
a bit.
The way the squadron works is as follows: it is divided into
three flights of six men each, a captain and five lieutenants;
one flight is on duty from daylight till 10 a.m., that means get-
ting up at 4.30 A.M.; one flight from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., and one
flight from 3 p.m. until dark, a little after 8 p.m. These hours
are getting longer every day. Each flight changes its hours of
duty each day, so that each has the daylight patrol one day in
three. Every day that we are on it is just good enough weather
so that we have to get up but bad enough so that we can't do
anything.
Our duty consists of waiting around to answer alerts — re-
ports of Bodies inside our lines — most of which are erroneous
or fruitless. Sometimes we make patrols. Just as the good
weather started they demanded a patrol from us for the Ameri-
can sector east of Luneville. So one flight took that, one was
on from daylight to noon and one from noon to dark.
Our flight has only four men now, as Pick has been brought
down and Cunningham has n't done any flying for some time.
The day before Pick was brought down I had a peculiar ex-
perience. Jim Meissner, Bill Loomis, and I were working for
another flight as their machines were out of commission. We
were to go up twenty minutes after two Salmsons and fly a little
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
way into Germany to lend them a bit of moral support. Bill
had to come back on account of motor trouble. Jim and I went
up and crossed the lines around Pont-a-Mousson. We were
flying west and a bit north when I saw two planes flying towards
us but a little south. I thought they were the Salmsons as we
were a little above 5000 metres, the height at which they were
supposed to be flying, but to make sure I dove down under Jim
to attract his attention and then flew off in the direction of the
two planes.
I got in back of the second plane and pulled up near and saw
the French cocardes on the wings, so flew over it and to the right
to join Jim who was way out in front. What was my surprise
to see him attacking the other machine. "The darn fool is
attacking a French plane, " I said to myself. Just then the plane
went into a vrille, a very slow one too, which gave me time to
pull up on him, and sure enough I saw the German insignia on
the black wings, not even crosses but a white diamond with per-
haps a little cross in the middle. As the Boche came out of the
vrille, Jim shot again. The Boche piqued, smoke came out at
the left and then flames. As Jim dove under I piqued on the
Boche but did n't fire, as I figured he was finished anyway
and I did n't want to hone in on Jim's credit. I pulled up and
saw Jim come around and give the Boche another round. He
was taking no chances on his first Boche. After that the Boche
was falling pretty fast. I went through a lot of burned wing
cloth and leveled out at about 3000 metres. I saw Jim going
off toward France but stayed around a little while to see the
Boche crash in a wood in the German lines.
When I landed, the Boche had already been confirmed, but
Jim was not back. We were quite worried for a time because
the machine seemed like a biplane and Jim's second attack was
from above. However we heard from him shortly that he was
en panne with a broken wing. It seems that on his last dive he
passed under the Boche so close that their wings hit and his
lower wing was torn and loosened a little.
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Gengoult, Toul,
May 17, 1918.
Eddie Rickenbacker had his fill of excitement this morning.
He attacked three Bodies. As he was piquing, one of them
pulled up in front of him and there was a collision in which the
Boche lost his tail and the leading edge of Ed's upper wing was
smashed all to pieces as far back as the struts. He fell in a
vrille 1600 metres, but finally pulled out of it. He had to keep
his motor on full so as to keep his machine right side up. We
were all surprised to see him coming in with full motor only
couping a couple of feet off the ground. I guess the Boche
got his all right.
You can't beat Doug Campbell much for recklessness. He had
a fight with two Albatross biplanes yesterday, over Thiaucourt,
without casualties on either side. He said "I guess they sent
them up to fight. I waited there about half an hour."
Gengoult,
May 21, 1918.
This stretch of good weather has kept us busy enough. We
could stand a little bad weather very well too. Some events
have taken place too, the most important was Major Lufbery's
death. A German biplane came down between 1500 and 1000
metres right over Toul. He certainly had plenty of nerve. One
of the anti-aircraft bursts must have worried him a little though.
It turned him right up on end and he fell 50 or 100 metres be-
fore he righted himself. Jay Gude attacked him unsuccessfully
and then Major Lufbery attacked him twice and was brought
down in flames. He jumped out of the machine at about 600
metres. The German went on over Nancy where he was brought
down by a Frenchman who had four Bodies to his credit
previously.
A little later Doug Campbell went out and brought down a
biplane on the French side of the lines. His brother was out
here visiting him and they both went out in a machine and got
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
some fine souvenirs, including the oflScer's pilot's badge and two
ribbons, iron cross and something else.
A Rumpler came down in a vrille from 5000 metres and the
pilot was n't hurt. We learned from him that Captain Hall is
all right, only a slight wound in the foot. So we had a pretty
busy Sunday.
Our flight was on yesterday morning so we figured of course
we could go to Lufbery's funeral, which was to be at 4. p.m. But
at 2.30 P.M. we received orders from the Group Headquarters
that we were to be on the alerte in addition to the other flight.
What soft brains those fellows are! They were afraid that going
to the funeral would be bad for our morale. At 3.45 they re-
lieved us from duty with instructions that only one flight was
to assist at the funeral. However, we jumped into an auto and
went to the funeral. We fellows of the 94th appreciate him
anyway. He was a wonderful pilot and a fine fellow^ to be with.
He kept rather to himself but he was pleasant to be with. He
never said much and was very modest. It was always very
difficult to get him to tell about his experiences which really
were worth listening to. He started on a biplane Voisin. His
first flight was in this machine over Metz. He used to have a
machine gunner whose eyes were so bad that he could n't tell
Allied planes from Boches and he used to ask Lufbery whether
to shoot or not.
Gengoult,
May 25, 1918.
Elsie Janis was out to lunch here again today. Later she was
out on the field and climbed into my machine (putting her foot
through the cloth of the wing in the process). I was not present
but they tell me that the mechanos gathered from far and near.
I should like to have a moving picture of an aviator flying
over the lines, doubling back and forth and always looking back
over his shoulder. If Darwin is worth anything the race of
aviators will develop the necks of owls.
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PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
Gengoult,
Ju7ie 1, 1918.
Doug Campbell brought down another biplane yesterday.
He said it was the first one he ever felt sorry for. After the ma-
chine gunner had shot all his cartridges, he stood up straight
in the pit with one hand on his hip and the other resting on the
gun rail while he watched calmly as Doug poured the bullets
into the machine. The machine fell in the French lines finally.
The machine gunner was an oher lieutenant.
Joe Eastman had a fight with the other biplane (which was
with the one that Doug brought down). He got rather the
worst of the encounter, though we did n't find any holes in his
plane. My motor quit just about five minutes before the fight
and I was staggering home when it took place. If I had been
with Joe on the biplane, we might have had him worried be-
tween us.
On the very day after writing these words, Davis,
smitten again and again by the death of his friends in the
94th Squadron, met his own. Of the circumstances at-
tending it, and of Davis himself, a surviving comrade,
Lieutenant Arthur Lawrence Cunningham, (Harvard, '18)
has written:
I had the good fortune to know Davis more or less intimately
during our mutual training period in the Lafayette Flying Corps,
and later became quite intimate with him in the 94th American
Pursuit Squadron.
On the Toul front where the 94th first went into action, Davis
and Chapman, who was killed a month later, and I were room
mates. We played bridge a good deal together, and Davis
carried on quite an extensive correspondence. He was a little
older than Chapman and I, and took the war a great deal more
seriously. A business man and over thirty years of age, studi-
ous in his habits and matured in thought and speech, he had
204
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
volunteered in the French Army and entered the most hazard-
ous branch of the service, while others of his age and in his posi-
tion contented themselves with smugly asserting in no weak
whisper that they were doing their bit in tending assiduously
to business, living "Christian" and patriotic lives, and contrib-
uting their tithe in interest paying bonds. But Davis thought
and acted differently. His quiet physical courage was equalled
only by his conception of duty to his country. He believed
religiously in the cause for which he was fighting, and I some-
times think that he would have asked no better death than to
die as he did high in the air, his glorious ideals of humankind
and its purposes still intact.
I remember the day of his death. One Sunday afternoon,
the first of June, Davis and 1 were dozing in our room. The
flight to which we belonged had been on "alert" from dawn till
nearly noon, and had made two patrols. Just before noon we
were relieved and returned to the barracks thinking our day's
work done. In mid-afternoon, however, our flight leader, Doug-
las Campbell, aroused us. A special call had come in for a
flight to escort a British bombing squadron across the lines,
and our flight was the only one available.
Davis and I walked across the field to the hangars. The
weather was beautiful, the air tranquil; the field through which
we were passing was bright with flowers and alive with the hum
of insects. The peasants of the neighborhood in Sunday best
had gathered around the planes in curious groups. So peaceful
and removed from all traces of war was the atmosphere that
Davis contrasted, in what were to be his last words to me, the
scene about us with the front a few miles to the north, and
characteristically remarked how lucky we were to be in the air
service instead of among those poor devils in the trenches.
A few minutes later four of us, Campbell, Eastman, Davis,
and I, were in the air and on our way to the lines. These we
crossed at an altitude of 18,000 feet, and cruised into German
territory. A few kilometres farther and before we had yet
205
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
sighted the British bombers, Campbell spied a flight of Boche
machines at a considerable distance below us, and immediately
dove to attack, the three of us after him. In the melee that
followed, I lost sight of Davis. We were nothing but a whirl of
machines diving, firing, and zooming up again. After a few min-
utes of this the enemy, six in number, turned tail and scudded
back into Germany. I pulled up, and looked around for the
rest of the flight. A plane, which I found out afterwards was
Campbell's, was above me and at a considerable distance to the
east; I could not locate Eastman, while Davis, recognizable by
the large number on the fuselage of his machine, was quite near
me and on the same level. We drew together until about fifty
feet separated us, then started to join Campbell. Suddenly a
tiny flame spurted out of Davis's machine just behind the pilot's
seat, and began to lick its way around the fuselage. Instantly
he dove towards the earth. Powerless and horrified I followed.
A few hundred feet further down his machine burst into a mass
of flames and then and there I think Davis's brave soul sped
forth; for the machine, out of all control, dropped into a vrille
or nose spin; righted itself, slid off on what was left of its wings,
and dropped again into a vrille. It continued to fall tumbling
from vrille to wing slide, then back again to vrille until it crashed
in a little meadow a few miles back of the German lines and at
the edge of a wood. I saw some human figures running towards
it, but could distinguish nothing else. I circled overhead for
the next ten or fifteen minutes while the machine smoked and
smouldered on the ground.
Weeks later we learned from the Germans that Davis had
been taken from his machine and buried. During the fight he
had been wounded in the leg, and an incendiary bullet, lodged
somewhere in his plane, had finally set it afire.
Another fellow-oflBcer of the Lafayette Escadrille, Lieu-
tenant William F. Loomis, wrote to Davis's sister: "This
brother of yours was the best friend I had here in France,
206
PHILIP WASHBURN DAVIS
and I can in a measure realize what his loss means to vou.
In response to a thorough belief which I have in the in-
evitable verity of things, I know that his supreme sacrifice
has not been in vain. He has covered himself with a glory
far beyond our comprehension."
Davis fell between St. Mihiel and Pont-a-Mousson, and
is buried at Richecourt, Meuse, near the Bois de Burly,
called Burlywald in the German notification of his death.
The ground containing his grave, purchased by his sister,
is under the care of the mayor of Richecourt.
207
GUY NORMAN
Class of 1890
VTUY Norman had the uncommon distinction among
Harvard men of serving as an ofRcer of the United States
Navy on active duty in two wars. He belonged to the
Harvard generation of young men to whom the Spanish
War gave its opportunity, and it is a notable fact that five
Norman brothers, all Harvard men, of whom he was one.
208
GUY NORMAN
took part in that war. Twenty years later he was ready
to serve again.
He was born at Newport, Rhode Island, July 7, 1868, a
son of the late George H. Norman, a conspicuous figure in
Rhode Island affairs, and Abbie Durfee (Kinsley) Norman.
After attending various schools in Germany and the United
States, including the John P. Hopkinson School in Boston,
he entered Harvard with the Class of 1890, with which he
graduated. In college he belonged to the Institute of 1770
and D. K. E., the Deutscher Verein, the Polo, Shooting,
Art, Hasty Pudding, and Porcellian Clubs.
Entering the business of a broker and banker on leaving
Harvard, he became a member of the Boston and New
York Stock Exchanges, a director of corporations, and a
trustee, with Boston as his place of business. On Septem-
ber 9, 1893, he was married at Beverly Farms, Massachu-
setts, to Louisa Palfrey. Their only child is the wife of
Elliot C. Bacon, '10.
At the outbreak of the war with Spain, Norman, always
an enthusiastic yachtsman, passed the examinations which
secured him the commission of ensign in the United States
Navy, and was assigned to duty on the battleship loiva,
commanded by Captain Robley D. Evans. On this vessel
he served throughout the war in various capacities, includ-
ing watch and division officer, and took part in the Battle
of Santiago. Honorably discharged from active duty at the
end of the war, he remained an ensign of the U. S. Naval
Reserve Force. Though his business interests centered in
Boston, he lived chiefly in Newport and Washington.
When the United States entered the World War, Nor-
man was a member of the Rhode Island Senate, not witli-
209
GUY NORMAN
out expectations of becoming a member of the national
House of Representatives from the Newport district. He
had entered pohtics late, but his friends had good reason
to believe that his matured capacities would enable him to
serve the public to excellent purpose. Called from the re-
serve to the active force of the Navy in May, 1917, he re-
signed his seat in the state Senate, and eagerly took up his
new duties. His constituents declined to choose another
senator in his place, and his colleagues expressed their
appreciation of his course by passing an appropriate reso-
lution and draping his desk in the Senate Chamber with a
service flag. Apropos of his brief career in politics the
Providence Journal described him, after his death, as "a
refreshing figure in the public life of Rhode Island," and
proceeded :
He entered the Legislature from no motive of self-seeking,
but for the sole purpose of contributing whatever of strength or
talent he had to the common welfare. Elected to the Senate as
a Republican, he refused to take orders from the party mana-
gers, and to the close of his service at the State House retained his
personal independence and self-respect. He had no enemies out-
side of politics, and in politics only such as were affected by his
vigorous opposition to dangerous and improper methods. The
sincerity of his aims was never questioned.
Reentering the Navy with the rank of ensign, Norman
was promoted lieutenant, junior grade, in October, 1917,
and lieutenant, February, 1918. His first service, on the
cruiser North Carolina, lasted from May, 1917, to March,
1918, and involved five trips to the danger zone on escort
duty. From the North Carolina he was transferred to the
battleship Oklahoma of the Atlantic Fleet. Norman was
210
GUY NORMAN
thus in the way of seeing more and important service in the
convoying of troop-ships across the Atlantic when the
state of his health, which for two years past had not been
good, obliged him to ask for sick leave in the hope that an
operation would restore his physical condition. The leave
was granted May 15, and the operation was soon per-
formed in Boston. There, on June 3, 1918, he died at the
Massachusetts General Hospital. Two days later the offi-
cers of the Ward Room Mess of the North Carolina testified
to their feeling about Norman by writing to his widow:
"We are proud to have known him. There was a self-
forgetful devotion in his service, and a genial friendliness
in his nature, which will keep us from forgetting him. He
was always anxious to be doing more than his share, never
careful for his own strength. Our lives must always be
more true when we remember that here in our midst, he
gave his life, in very truth, for the country he loved."
211
ROLAND JACKSON
Class of 1916
A SON of William Sharpless Jackson and Helen Fisk
(Banfield) Jackson, a brother of William Sharpless Jack-
son, Jr. (Harvard, '11), Roland Jackson was born at Colo-
rado Springs, Colorado, January 4, 1893. He prepared
himself for college at the Cutter School, Colorado Springs,
where he was an excellent student and popular among his
classmates. For two years, 1910-12, he attended Colo-
rado College. In the autumn of 191'2 he entered Harvard
with the Class of 1916. He took his degree of A.B., magna
cum laude, at the end of three years, in the first of which
he won a John Harvard Scholarship and a Detur, in the
second a Harvard College Scholarship, in the third his
election to Phi Beta Kappa. In his freshman year he was
212
ROLAND JACKSON
a member of the rowing squad of his class, served as ac-
companist for the Glee Club, and joined in the work of
Phillips Brooks House. He belonged to the Western,
Musical, and Signet Clubs. He devoted his summer va-
cations to tutoring. His scholastic attainments were high.
Yet it is written of him in the Memorial Report of his
class that his interests "were anything but confined to
studies. He was very much of a musician at heart, and
spent many hours a day at the piano. . . . His greatest
pleasure was perhaps in the social side of college life. He
was very much interested in getting the different points of
view of the many diverse types of personalities about
college, and was a most sympathetic and delightful com-
panion at all times."
In the same Memorial Report from which these words
are taken, the following passage is found:
After graduating from college at the end of junior year, he
taught school for one winter at Pinehurst, North Carolina. He
had become much interested in Spanish while at college, and
was anxious to have a first-hand acquaintance with the country
as well as the language, so in the fall of 1916 he sailed for Spain.
He spent some eight months in that country, studying the
language and living for the greater part of his stay with a
Spanish family in Madrid. He was immensely interested in
the life of the people and their temperament, with its freedom
from care and its complete abandon. He worked in a Spanish
business house for a while, and in June, 1917, was appointed
a secretary to the American Embassy. The life of the Embassy,
however, with its many intrigues and insincerities, did not ap-
peal to him, and he resigned his position shortly afterwards and
returned to this country.
213
ROLAND JACKSON
It was a country at war in which he found himself,
and in August, 1917, he entered the Second Officers'
Training Camp at Fort Sheridan, IlHnois. On November
30 he was commissioned second heutenant of infantry.
His fondness for outdoor Hfe and exercise, and the spirit
of adventure that was in him, made the training of a mih-
tary camp a congenial experience, and his own wish was
gratified when he was ordered to France almost immedi-
ately upon receiving his commission.
He sailed in January, 1918, as a casual, and was detailed
to a British gun school, "His letters from France" — to
quote again from the 1916 Memorial Report — "are full
of his joy in the army life, his pleasure and interest in his
fellow soldiers, and his delight in France and the French
people. He read many French books in his hours off duty,
in order to understand better their point of view. In May
he wrote to his sister : ' I am gradually carving out a phi-
losophy which will include everything.'"
It was in May also that he was assigned to Company G,
30th Infantry, 3d Division. On June 4, his regiment was
ordered to the front at Chateau-Thierry. There, two days
later, he met his death, the circumstances of which were
related as follows in a letter signed by a captain and three
lieutenants of his company:
In the morning of June 6, at about 1 o'clock, the Germans
began a fierce bombardment of the town in which the company
was billeted for the night. Lieutenant Jackson and the other
officers had just returned from duty in the first sector of the
fight, and were preparing to go to bed for the night when a
number of men were brought in to us for first aid treatment.
The number steadily increased, and Lieutenant Jackson left
214
ROLAND JACKSON
the room to attend the wounded in the street. As he emerged
from the doorway a high explosive shell burst within ten
feet of him, causing his instant death along with three other
officers. . . .
Lieutenant Jackson was a young officer who was held in the
highest esteem by all with whom he was associated and all
cherished him for his noble and manly character, as well as for
his professional ability and strict attention to duty.
His death occurred near Chateau-Thierry. On the
next day he and the three officers killed with him were
buried in a little orchard near by. In accordance with
Jackson's own desire, no funeral services were held over his
grave. It was marked with a wooden cross, to which his
identification tag was attached. His essential vitality is
suggested in a few words from a letter written by one of
his brothers: "I have just finished probating his will to-
day. The words 'Roland Jackson, deceased,' seem so
antithetical that I feel as if I was lying every time I write
them."
215
GORDON KAEMMERLING
Class of 1912
(jTORDON Kaemmerling was born August 29, 1891,
at Erie, Pennsylvania, the second son of Gustav and
Effie (Barnhurst) Kaemmerling. His father, now Rear-
Admiral Kaemmerling, U. S. N., who served during the
war as chief inspector for the Navy Department in the
New York Shipbuilding Corporation yards at Camden,
New Jersey, was then a junior engineer officer in the Navy,
the son of Colonel Gustav and Gertrude Kaemmerling,
of Tell City, Indiana. Colonel Kaemmerling commanded
the 9th Ohio Volunteers throughout most of the Civil
War, and was of German birth, having come to this coun-
try in the exodus following the revolt of 1848 in Germany.
His wife was of Swiss parentage. In the ancestry of
216
GORDON KAEMMERLING
EflSe (Barnhurst) Kaemmerling there was a blending of
English, Dutch, Scotch, and Welsh blood. Gordon Kaem-
merling's slightly older brother is Gustav Henry Kaem-
merling, also of the Harvard Class of 1912, who entered
the Marine Corps early in the war, and attained the rank
of captain.
But for a year in Milwaukee, Gordon Kaemmerling's
boyhood was spent chiefly in Erie, Pennsylvania, the
home of his mother's parents. In the summer he and
his brother joined their father on the Massachusetts coast,
or travelled in Canada or the West, or attended a boy's
camp in New Hampshire. He gave early evidences of
marked capacity. Learning to read and write at home,
he entered the third grade of the Erie schools at seven,
together with his brother, and thenceforth usually stood
at or near the head of his classes. When he was twelve,
he passed the entrance examinations for the Erie High
School, standing second in a list of some three hundred
and fifty. Several years earlier he and his brother had
begun studying the piano. After a year or two Gordon
forged ahead rapidly, and as time went on became so fond
of music that he would have adopted it as a profession
had not the more practical judgment of his father over-
ruled this impulse. Through this time he was a member
of the boy choir and Sunday School of St. Paul's (Episco-
pal) Church at Erie, of which the Rev. Franklin S. Spald-
ing, afterwards Bishop of Utah, was then the rector. But
it was not only in studies and music that he excelled. At
Camp Marienfeld, near Mount Monadnock, where he
passed three summers, he showed unusual athletic ability,
outclassing the juniors of his own age, whom he surpassed
217
GORDON KAEMMERLING
in size and strength, and holding his own with boys much
older than himself — and this not in any one sport, but
in all.
After the summer of 1906, he entered the Morristown
School, Morristown, New Jersey, where he rapidly made
himself respected both as student and as athlete. He
made the football team at once, playing, as his brother
has expressed it, "like a small thunderbolt," and enjoying
the physical conflict to the full. In the spring he made
both the baseball and track teams, and finished the school
year by passing his preliminary examinations for Har-
vard with high marks. At the end of the ensuing summer
at Camp Marienfeld, a physical examination revealed a
slight heart-strain, and further participation in athletics
was forbidden him. Perhaps he was thus the freer for
his final year of school work at Morristown, where he un-
dertook an unusual number of studies and mastered them
so thoroughly that he won both the School prize for the
highest average scholarship and the prize offered by the
Harvard Club of New Jersey for the highest mark in en-
trance examinations for Harvard attained by a candidate
from that state. The committee that awarded the prize
defined him as "a remarkably well-rounded boy of excel-
lent parts and sterling character," and in recognition of
the standing of both Gordon and Gustav Kaemmerling,
said: "It is a rather remarkable coincidence that two
brothers, fitted in the same school, applying for admission
to the same class at Harvard should take first and second
places in the entrance examination of all applicants from
this State, and that the younger, who was only sixteen
years and ten months old last June, should be first."
218
GORDON KAEMMERLING
It has been said of Gordon Kaemmerling at this time
that "during these years his individuahty was crystallizing.
He always showed a high sense of honor, and a modesty
the more remarkable in view of his unusual variety of
attainments. He was an uncompromising idealist, simple
in his tastes, and absolutely without the affectations
which are usually normal with boys of his age. Prob-
ably it was for this reason that he was popular with the
quieter souls, and especially beloved of the younger boys."
In the autumn of 1908 he entered Harvard, having just
passed his seventeenth birthday. He and his brother
roomed together, and soon began to collect friends and
acquaintances, old and new. The prohibition against
strenuous athletics still being in effect, Gordon was not
allowed to take up football or track work, but entered
competition for the freshman basketball team, and soon
won a position as forward, where he played in all the
games that year, winding up by participating in the de-
feat of the Yale freshmen.
His years in college were quiet, with little incident for
chronicling. At the end of the first year the brothers went
to the Harvard Engineering Camp, and spent most of
the summer there taking surveying courses. In their
sophomore year basketball was removed from the list of
college sports, and Gordon spent much of his time out of
doors, tramping about the country in the neighborhood
of Cambridge. He had no difficulty in keeping up with
his studies, but did not strive to attain unusually good
marks. He had a remarkable ability to untangle the
intricacies of mathematics, and in his second summer at
the Engineering Camp took up a mathematical course in
219
GORDON KAEMMERLING
kinetics, generally considered difficult, and made a per-
fect mark in daily work, tests, and examinations, to the
astonishment of his instructor. Oddly enough, he had
no fondness for mathematics, which he regarded as merely
a means to an end.
In his junior year, through which the brothers decided
to room apart, he joined the Alpha Phi Sigma Club, and
later the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity. Toward the
end of the year he went out for track, and won the run-
ning broad jump in a handicap meet. A slight strain, how-
ever, prevented his winning the jump in the Dartmouth
meet, shortly afterwards, and ended his collegiate athletic
activities.
At the end of this year, he had completed enough courses
to secure his A.B. degree, and after spending a month or
two at Cambridge, returned to Erie, where he was em-
ployed first by the Hayes Manufacturing Company, and
after several months by the General Electric Company.
In 1915 he went to the Alberger Pump and Condenser
Company, spending several months at their plant in New-
burgh, New York, and then entering their New York
office. It was characteristic of him that in this period he
took a room with a Colombian family, in order to increase
his facility in Spanish, which he had been studying for
some time.
In the summer of 1916 he attended the Plattsburg
camp, and after war was declared, made application for
the first 1917 camp. A physical disability which could
be corrected by an operation led to his rejection. The
hospital at which he applied for admission was full, but
his unremitting insistence opened its doors to him and he
220
GORDON KAEMMERLING
underwent the operation at once. Fearful lest he might
be too late for the first camp, which was just beginning,
he left the hospital when just about able to walk, and re-
ported immediately at Plattsburg. The doctors there
wanted to send him back to the hospital, but gave way in
the face of his firm determination to stay. His vigor re-
turned rapidly, and he devoted himself to his militarv
studies with such zeal that he was one of five men in his
company to whom commissions in the Regular Army were
offered. He accepted this opportunity as affording the
quickest path to the front, received his commission as
provisional second lieutenant, and was ordered to the
23d Infantry Regiment then at Syracuse, New York.
Joining this command September 1, he was assigned to
the machine gun company. Overseas orders came almost
at once, and on September 8 the regiment sailed from
Hoboken on the U. S. S. Pocahontas, which arrived at St.
Nazaire, September 20.
From St. Nazaire, Kaemmerling proceeded with his
comrades in arms, to Bourmont, Haute Marne, where
they arrived October 1. Early in the period of intensive
training which then began, Kaemmerling's commission
as provisional second lieutenant, infantry, in the Regular
Army was issued. On January 2, 1918, he was sent to
the British Physical Training and Bayonet School at St.
Pol, Pas-de-Calais, where he remained until January 27.
Returning to his command at Goncourt, he was assigned
to Company M, and put in charge of bayonet instruction
for the 3d Battalion, with which he presently went into
the trenches in the Verdun sector. There he remained
from April 3 until about May 10, 1918. During this
221
GORDON KAEMMERLING
period and thereafter he was in command of the one-
pound platoon, having previously taken a course in the
operation of the one-pounder, and was consequently as-
signed to Headquarters Company. On April 1 he was
promoted temporary first lieutenant, to date from October
26, 1917.
About May 10 the regiment was taken out of the line
for rest, and the Headquarters Company went to Robert-
Espagne. On May 20 it went by train to Chaumont-en-
Vexin, northwest of Paris. On May 31 it was rushed
toward Chateau-Thierry with the rest of the 2d Divi-
sion, reaching its position in support late in the day of
June 1. Before it could settle down, the 23d was rushed
north to a point near Germigny early on June 2. Being
relieved on June 4-5, it returned to support position near
Montreuil-aux-Lions, and the 1st and 3d Battalions went
into the line almost immediately.
On the evening of June 6 an attack was ordered. Dur-
ing the course of this attack Kaemmerling was called into
a conference with the battalion commander. His guns
were stationed in advanced positions, and, while returning
to them across a field covered by shell-fire and machine-
gun bullets, he was struck by a splinter of shell and killed
instantly. A captain of the 23d Regiment afterwards
described the circumstances as follows:
I last saw Gordon at 10.15 on the night of June 6. As he
passed my position on his way to meet the battalion com-
mander, he stopped and talked to me. He laughingly told me
that he was in a hurry to get back to his gun in No Man's
Land, as he did not like to be away from his men long.
After the conference he started back through a field literally
222
GORDON KAEMMERLING
covered by bursting shell and machine-gun fire. From the
direction in which he was going and the location of the wound,
it was very apparent that his death was caused by a high ex-
plosive shell, bursting either directly overhead or just in the
rear, as I know that he was headed for his guns further forward,
and was struck in the back just below the shoulder-blade.
From all appearances he evidently died instantly, for when
I saw the body the next morning it was nearly cut in two and
riddled with machine-gun bullets.
He was buried at Le Thiolet, a small town near Chateau-
Thierry.
Kaemmerling's letters from France were always cheer-
ful, and such hardships as he mentioned were described
with a humorous touch. He fell in love with France at
once, and wrote, "I've been seeing Parrish seas (also
Sorolla), Corot trees, and Dore skies. This is a dream
country that I'd love to play in in peace times." There
are many more paragraphs, expressing his delight in the
quaintness and attractiveness of French ways and people.
He also enjoyed his contact with the English, of whom he
says, "The more I saw of the British, the more I liked
them. . . . All we want to get to appreciate the British
is to know them better." He often spoke of the men under
his command with unbounded enthusiasm, describing one
after another to point his remarks. How he enjoyed it all
was revealed in such declarations as, "I wouldn't give
up my experiences so far for two or three dull-gray
existences."
The affection and admiration in which he was held by
the officers and men of his command found many expres-
sions. A single incident related by David Loring, Jr.
(Harvard, '16), commanding officer of the Headquarters
223
GORDON KAEMMERLING
Company of the 23d Regiment while KaemmerHng was
attached to it, is characteristic. RecalHng a certain march,
this fellow-officer wrote :
There occurred a little incident which I always think of when
I think of Gordon. It was a very hot day. The previous day
the men had been paid, and were now suffering from the results
of the inevitable pay-day celebration. Discipline was low, and
the men inclined to straggle. . . . One man who was really
all in showed signs of weakening, and Gordon relieved him of
his pack and rifle and carried them for several miles in addition
to his own equipment. At the next halt I overheard some men
discussing it. One commented on it, saying, "That's a damn
fine lieutenant. There ain't many would do that." ... It
was typical of Gordon's way with the men, and their attitude
with him.
His clean enthusiasm, his love of beauty, his open-hearted
friendship, and, above all, his utter devotion to his country and
the things for which it stood, are the qualities which Kaem-
merling's friends most warmly remember.
224
JOHN DWIGHT FILLEY, Jr.
Class of 1916
-L H E only son of John Dwight Filley and Fannie (Doug-
lass) Filley, John Dwight Filley, Jr., was born July 15,
1893, at Ferguson, a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, the
home of his parents throughout his life. He had his early
schooling at a kindergarten and the Smith Academy, a
St . Louis school named for the family that gave the Smith
Freshman Halls to Harvard. At twelve he went to Ham-
225
JOHN DWIGHT FILLEY, Jr.
let Lodge, at Pomfret, Connecticut, and afterwards at-
tended the Pomfret School for two years. When these
were drawing to an end he began to plan for entering
Harvard two instead of three years later, and finding that
his studies at Pomfret could not be arranged to this end,
wrote of his own motion, and without the approval of his
parents, to the Lake Placid School in the Adirondacks,
with the result that by spending a summer and two winters
there he was ready to begin his work at Harvard in 1912,
with the Class of 1916.
In college Filley became assistant manager of the fresh-
man baseball team and a member of the Institute of 1770j
D. K. E., Southern, Hasty Pudding, and Fox Clubs.
He also joined Troop B of the Massachusetts Cavalry,
and greatly enjoyed the summer encampments of that
body. In the summer of 1915 he was one of the under-
graduates who sailed with a company of four hundred
Harvard men from New York on the Finland to attend
the meeting of the Associated Harvard Clubs in San
Francisco, and shared the discomforts and pleasures of
the delay caused by a landslide in the Panama Canal.
After the San Francisco meeting and a riding trip through
the Y^ellowstone Park, in which he took much pleasure,
he joined his parents at Y^ork Harbor, Maine — and few
parents, it should be said, have ever enjoyed a more satis-
fying relationship with a son, affectionate, cheerful, and
bent upon meeting the expectations of his father.
Graduating at Harvard in 1916, he attended the Platts-
burg Training Camp of that summer, and in the autumn
entered the Brooklvn works of the American Manufac-
turing Company, of which his father is president. Be-
226
JOHN DWIGHT FILLEY, Jr.
ginning at the bottom of this business of making cordage,
bagging, and kindred products, Filley was promoted three
times in the ten months that passed before his entering
the first Plattsburg camp for the training of officers that
was held after the United States associated itself with the
Allies in the war. At the conclusion of this camp he re-
ceived, August 15, 1917, his commission as second lieu-
tenant of infantry, and, assigned to Company M, 23d
Infantry Regiment, sailed for France, September 8, 1917.
On October 26 his Regular Army commission of provi-
sional second lieutenant of infantry was issued, and on
the same day he was promoted temporary first lieutenant.
From the time of his landing in France until his death
from wounds in the fight at Chateau-Thierry, Filley's
personal record was but a part of the history of the 23d
Infantry, which became one of the units in the 2d Division
of the American Expeditionary Forces upon its organiza-
tion late in 1917. His letters home touched on the outer
aspects of the life he was leading, with allusions to the
mud of Flanders — "without exaggeration it is up to our
knees" — to paying $36 for a pair of boots, to his tempo-
rary service as judge advocate, to the superiority of French
over British gas masks, to looking forward to the trenches
as a place of rest after wearisome marches, and to finding
them anything but that. In March he wrote: "Things
are very lively now. One man got forty Germans yester-
day and should get all kinds of decorations. There are
rumors that I'm to be made a captain, but I'm perfectly
satisfied with my present responsibility." In April came
this observation: "Life is queer. We go to a French
movie and sit laughing while things are blown to pieces
227
JOHN DWIGHT FILLEY, Jr.
outside. The most exciting thing I have seen was an aerial
fight. The French brought down three Boches in our sec-
tor, and seventy-two in one day in a radius of ten miles."
With the 23d Infantry, Filley was rushed, June 1, 1918,
to Chateau-Thierry for the fight which in its results proved
so momentous to the fortunes of the Allies. He was placed
in command of Company M, and on June 6 led it in a
charge that gained its objective. When this was done he
returned to Headquarters for further instructions and was
going back to his men, at 9.30 p.m., when he was severely
wounded in the chest and both legs by fragments of a
shell. In the hospital at Juilly, to which an ambulance
bore him, he underwent, on the following day, an oper-
ation on his chest, but it was impossible to save him, and
on June 8, nine months from the day of his sailing for
France, he died, "unafraid of death," as he told the
chaplain who attended him, but ready for it if it must come.
He was buried near by, with full military ceremonial.
He was an officer of high promise, as of notable achieve-
ment. In his home city of St. Louis, the 1st Regiment of
Infantry, Missouri Home Guards, paid him honor by
giving his name, in 1920, to their summer encampment.
His college roommate, in more intimate testimony, has
described him as "always generous, almost to a fault,
considerate, bright, manly, and upright, and the best
friend a man could hope for." From a friend in Paris,
with whom he spent a few hours on his way to the front,
came the report, "I never talked to a more exalted soul;
he was like the crusaders of old, fired with their spirit,
to fight for the highest ideals, to bring back to earth
purity, love, and freedom."
228
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
Class of 1914
IJne theory of biography is that it should begin in the
middle. That method may well be applied in the present
instance by quoting a letter from Frederick L. Allen
(Harvard, '12), Secretary to the Corporation of Harvard
College :
The main thing that I shall always remember about Ev
Herter was the amount of sheer enjoyment that he got out of
229
E\ ERIT ALBERT HERTER
life, and the amount that he gave to any company of which he
was a member. He Hved abundantly, in the best sense of the
term; he did everything with gusto; his humor was contagious;
he was one of the most genial companions I have ever known.
Herter was unusually tall, I should say six feet two or three,
and of fine physique, although he stooped slightly. He had a
laugh all of his own, a sort of internal chuckle, almost soundless;
his head would duck forward and his shoulders jerk upward as
if he were inwardly convulsed. The mere sight of one of his
intimates approaching was enough to start one of these con-
vulsions. He seemed to be inexpressibly amused even before
you had a chance to say anything; and the result was that the
minute you saw his broad shoulders and blond head across the
living room of the Harvard Club of New York, you found your-
self in good humor. You wanted to tell him the best story you
had heard that day, just to watch him relish it. He was hugely
appreciative, and put you at your best. If you were going any-
where you wanted him to come along, because no party could
be dull if Ev Herter was there.
Whenever I think of him I think of a certain October week-
end that Boughton Cobb and I spent with him at Easthampton.
That weekend was a regular pentathlon; we played golf all day,
and whenever we were n't playing golf we were competing at
pool or some other game. When the time came for me to rush
for my train to New York, I came out of the house, where I had
been packing furiously, to find Herter and Cobb in the midst of
a game of croquet, playing in the glare of the automobile head-
lights. It was nearly dark; but they had backed the car round
so that the headlights played on the croquet lawn, and they were
hard at it. That was characteristic of Ev, He had played
everything else, he had ten minutes to spare while I was packing,
and he must cram one more game into those ten minutes. The
only thing that would be comparable in enjoyment to playing
any such game with him would be hearing him tell about it
afterwards.
230
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
His friends still tell about his imitation of a motion-picture
operator at a Crimson-Lampoon hockey game, when he was an
undergraduate. He could n't skate well enough to take part
in the game, but he rigged up something that looked like a
camera by means of a soap-box with the top of a beer-bottle
sticking out through a hole in the side, and he rushed here and
there and industriously went through the motions of turning
a crank and filming the more tumultuous crises of the game.
At any such burlesque affair he was in his element. He pro-
vided more than his share of comedy at the always amusing
baseball game between the Lampoon and Crimson editors, and
no costume was too exaggerated or ridiculous for him to put
on as a member of the Lampoon's "reversible battery."
Don't think for a minute that I mean to represent him as a
buffoon. His humor was only one manifestation of a sensitive
nature that showed itself also in his keen interest in art and
decoration, and in his genuine thoughtfulness and kindness.
The impression created by this letter is heightened by
another, from Herter's friend and classmate, Edward
Streeter, author of "Dere Mable" and other popular
books :
I lost a number of friends in the war. Several of them touched
my life more closely than did Everit. None of them, however,
left such a sense of vacancy. Herter's outstanding character-
istic was a whimsical sense of humor, and I never saw it fail him
under any circumstances. In college I was associated with him
on the Harvard Lampoon. More than once we have been seated
over a luncheon table and realized that the paper had to go to
press in twenty-four hours, and what was still worse, that there
was no material available. It was at times like that that Herter
was at his best. He would walk up and down the room making
dry remarks which were not of the least help and then suddenly
an idea would emerge, and then another and another until we
231
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
had the ground work of the entire edition laid down. Probably
no one enjoyed these numbers more than Ev and myself. Cer-
tainly no one laughed so hard over them.
Later when Ev became a professional artist and married a
very wonderful girl, Carolyn Keck, this same optimism and
humor smoothed over the rough spots caused by lack of money.
He lived in a little house above 86th Street on the East River.
For a year or more he had no maid, little money, and not too
many prospects, yet I knew of no place where I could be sure of
better conversation, or a heartier laugh. Things which would
have made life depressing to an ordinary man, Herter made into
a source of amusement. I remember that there was a corner
saloon near his house which seemed objectionable to me until
I found that Herter had made a solemn rite of going there each
evening before bed time with a little tin pail which he used to
fill with beer to speed his parting guests.
Had he lived, I think that Ev might have become a great
artist. He had a sincere feeling for his work which spelled
"success," and never for one moment did he dream of doing
anything else. The very idea of being in business amused him
and yet he was far from impractical when it came to running
his own house and family.
We were writing a book together when the war broke out. It
would never have been much of a book, I fear, but my chief
reason for wanting to write it was the contact which it gave me
with Ev.
Now to begin at the beginning : — Everit Albert Herter
was born in New York, February 19, 1894, a son of the
distinguished painter Albert Herter and Adele (McGinnis)
Herter. His brother is Christian Archibald Herter, 2d
(Harvard, '15), who was serving as secretary to Ambas-
sador Gerard in Berlin when the United States entered the
war. Seven years of Everit Herter's childhood were spent
in Europe — France, Italy, Sicily, Switzerland. In Paris
232
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
he attended I'ficole Alsacienne, where his name is now on
the Roll of Honor among his French comrades. The early
memories of his life in France made a great and lasting
impression on him, and were always happy and beloved,
so that on returning to France as a soldier he felt at home
and greatly loved and sympathized with the people of
the country.
When eleven years old he returned to America and went
to a small school, Pine Lodge, near Lakewood, New York.
Here he was very happy, and did well in his studies, at the
same time showing such talent and ingenuity as an actor
in plays given by the boys that the masters felt convinced
that acting would be his career. This talent was always
increasingly marked, but had no interest for him as a
serious vocation.
From Pine Lodge he went to the Browning School in
New York for two years, and at the age of sixteen en-
tered Harvard. He did not graduate from college until
a half-year after his class because of a serious accident to
his foot in the fall of his freshman year which incapaci-
tated him for five months. He never recovered from this
accident, and when the war came his lameness prevented
his entering any officers' training camp. At Harvard his
studies were mostly in the art courses, and he enjoj'ed
especially his work with Denman Ross. He belonged to
the Institute, Signet, D. K. E., Stylus, Pen and Brush,
Cosmopolitan, Hasty Pudding and Spee Clubs, but the
association from which he derived the greatest enjo\anent
and profit during his years at Harvard was that of the
Lampoon, of which he was an editor, and in his senior
year "Ibis."
233
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
After taking his degree in January, 1915, he went im-
mediately to New York, where he studied at the New York
Art League with George B. Bridgman. That summer he
took some painting courses at the Harvard Summer
School, and in October was married in Easthampton, Long
Island, to Caroline Seymour Keck. During the following
winter he lived in New York and worked with and for his
father. The quality of his painting may be seen in the
mural decorations in the Japanese style which he did for
the Stratford House grill in New York, and in Chinese
panels for a lady's boudoir. These two things were of
especial note in his accomplishment of that winter. During
the summer of 1916, he worked on some decorations of
Barry Faulkner's for the Washington Irving High School
in New York.
In October, 1916, his first son was born, Albert Herter,
2d, who died just a year after his father. His second boy
was born after he went to war, March, 1918, and bears his
name.
April, 1917, brought the war, and during the following
summer, being unable to enlist or enter any camp for the
reason already named, he spent his time painting decora-
tive panels which he sold for the benefit of the Red Cross.
His hope for more active service lay in the organization of
a Camouflage Corps such as the French had formed, and
the moment of its birth found him in Washington. On
September 4, 1917, he enlisted as a private, and was as-
signed to the 25th Engineers, Company A (Camouflage.)
The injury to his foot was overlooked, and though his
comrades tell of the agony it caused him on hikes, he never
allowed it to incapacitate or handicap him.
234
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
After a week as a private he became a corporal, and on
September 25 was promoted sergeant, 1st class. With the
first contingent of his regiment he sailed, on January 4,
1918, for France, where the unit to which he belonged was
attached to the 5th and 6th Regiments, U. S. Marine
Corps, at the front.
In words of his own Herter drew a picture of the journey
to France which is introduced at this point in spite of its
dealing with a single episode of his military life with a
degree of detail that cannot be duplicated in any other.
Apart from its place in the record of Herter's experience, it
makes a distinctive contribution to the amazing story of
the transportation of our millions of troops to France.
On January 2, we got orders to burn the straw from our
mattresses, and we knew again that we were due to start. This
time there was no hitch. Shortly after noon mess the company
was assembled, everything checked up, and the baggage gone.
We left camp at about 3 o'clock, and the snow was falling
heavily, so that it was twilight when we got to Washington. We
passed the foot of the Washington Monument, and you can
imagine nothing more picturesque than the men — their hats,
shoulders, and knapsacks powdered with snow — filing by in
dusk, with the great obelisk, its top almost lost in the gathering
darkness and the driving snow, for a background. It was a
great sight.
It was about 5.30 that we finally pulled up in the railroad
yards. It soon became apparent that things had gone wrong,
as there was no train in evidence, except a string of coal cars
against which we were lined up. We stacked arms, and posted
a guard, so that no man could go outside the stacks and get
lost; and then just waited. It was down near zero with a fear-
ful wind blowing, and a draft between and under those freight
cars that took us off our feet, so we were fairly miserable. Some
235
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
ingenious soul scooped axle grease out of the train wheels and
started a fire with it and some loose coal. The idea was passed
along, and each platoon presently had a fire going. It was a
wonderful scene — of the Valley Forge type — but most un-
comfortable as you simply could n't get warm without burning.
That lasted about three hours. Then the train finally pulled in.
As usual there had been a mistake, and they had sent a train
at 4 o'clock, with about half enough space and no heat. This
train was fine though. We loaded on, by platoons, three men
to a double seat. The racks were full of equipment — belts,
canteens, cartridge-belts hanging from them, rifles stacked in
corners, between seats, etc., mackinaws and ponchos hanging
on every available hook, and the air dim and blue with tobacco
smoke — another scene full of character and local color. The
train stopped immediately (about 9) leaving Lieutenant Embury
behind by a mistake. He had to hire a locomotive and catch
up with us, which he did in about two hours, covered with grease,
from head to foot, on his new uniform.
We passed a pleasant if somewhat sleepless night. Owing
to the crowding, every time you tried to sleep some one else
would do likewise, and presently his feet would find their way
into your face, or vice versa, and hostilities would start. Card
games were the most popular time-killers, some lasting all night.
Along towards 5.30 we arrived at our destination. Of course
we had no idea where we were. We unloaded and fell in on the
platform in column of squads. Without delay, as darkness and
secrecy were necessary, we marched into the station. We had
to "break step" immediately, as when we entered the stone
paved waiting room we were all in step and the rhythmic rever-
berations made the place shake and echo, and brought the sleepy
porters and workmen and a few civilians rushing from all points
to see what the devil was up. The order had been given that
there would be no loud talking or shouting of any kind, but
when we had crossed the station, gone down a gang plank and
on to a ferry-boat, there it was, visible through the windows at
236
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
the end — the skyhne of lower Manhattan, against the pale
green sky — first signs of the dawn — and the first two platoons
broke into a perfect roar of joy. The officers were so excited
themselves that nothing was said, but you can imagine the
thrill of it. The men who came from New York were wild, and
as most of the others had never seen it before, they were over-
awed. It was too beautiful for anything. The river was packed
with ice — iridescent as the dawn grew brighter — against
that wonderful background of skyscrapers and lights.
The ferry headed straight up the river, keeping on the Jersey
side, and suddenly headed in to one of the great docks. At this
dock lay the , just returned from France, and sheathed in
ice; and on the other side another great vessel, the which
was to take us. I am not allowed to give names, but our ship
is almost the largest transport afloat. The ferry tied up to the
outer end of the dock, and we marched straight down the dock
to the transport's gang plank. Each man called his name as he
went on board, and was checked up by a ship's officer, so it was
impossible for a spy to get on board unless he was in a company.
(We hear, by the way, that on the last trip this boat made,
there was a spy on board — an officer, who was caught signalling
from a port -hole with a flash-light.) For the first time, I dis-
covered the advantage of being a 1st class sergeant. When all
the men had gone on board, we were kept waiting, with the
officers, on the dock, until nearly paralyzed with cold. Then
we were ushered on board to a most luxurious stateroom. . . .
Having shed our packs, we went below to see how the boys
were getting along. I assure you, the troop-space on a transport
is a sight for sore eyes. The ceiling averages about six and one-
half feet in height. In every available inch of space there are
iron pipes (upright) and cross pieces six feet long about twenty
inches across. Between these a canvas is stretched. That's
your bunk. They are in tiers of three, one above the other, the
lowest a foot from the floor, the other two about two feet apart.
The upper berth is impossible to sit up in, and gets some light.
237
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
The lower two are good for nothing but sleeping. The port-
holes are all closed solid, so we depend on artificial ventilation —
which puts us at the mercy of the wind. With the wind astern
— as it now is for instance — there is no air. The aisles between
bunks are just wide enough to pass through by squeezing —
passing a man is impossible — and to sum up, there are no
hooks, so a man's berth contains not only himself but all his
belongings, blankets, poncho, shelter-tent, pack, haversack,
cartridge belt, mess tin, canteen and cup, and toilet articles and
rifle.
Lieutenant St. G. conducts three inspections of quarters
daily, and if a man's bunk is not absolutely neat he gets soaked.
That keeps them busy and our quarters look extremely well.
The men are turned loose when they get on board, but of
course no one is allowed ashore again. ... ^
During the day the ship took in her cargo — great derrick
loads at a time — and all night you could hear the squeaking
and groaning of the great machines hauling up and lowering
ton after ton of steel, iron, food, ammunition, etc.
I stood on the stern with Faulkner that night, and probably
never saw a finer sight. We looked straight across the river at
the great mass of lights of the city, with tugs and brilliantly
lighted ferries ploughing up the ice between us. Clouds of
steam arose from our ship, somewhere beneath us, so that at
times everything was hidden. Then we'd catch a glimpse
through a rift in the cloud. Presently a ferry would head in,
swarming with troops, and the long dark line would pile on to
the dock, through the great store houses, and up on to the trans-
port. There would be other ferries waiting, also alive with men,
and as the first backed out, these came in, and the vast transport
continued to take in its load throughout the night.
By morning she was loaded. Only one gang plank was in
place — from the officers' deck — and orderlies were rushing up
and down it getting the last papers signed, etc. Then came a
general call to quarters, and every man on board went below —
out of sight.
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EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
Nothing happened for a long time, and when I got a ghmpse
out of a port-hole (along towards 3.30 p.m.) there was "Lib-
erty" on the starboard bow, and the dear old Aquarium at the
Battery, to port. It was very beautiful in the late afternoon
light, and although looking out of port-holes was strictly for-
bidden I could n't resist a long farewell look. Neither could
most of the other officers and non-coms.
The non-coms, 1st class sergeants, 1st sergeants, master
engineers, and medical sergeants have a mess hall to themselves
— another added luxury, although I can't say too little of the
mentality and morality of the average non-com. , . .
When we were allowed on deck again, it was night, and by
morning no land was in sight.
Then it became clear that trouble was ahead. Our company
was chosen to do all the guard duty for the ship for the entire
trip. There were twenty-two posts to guard. Three reliefs
made sixty-six men, who, with six corporals and two sergeants,
made seventy-four men we had to supply daily, I was on guard
our first day and night out. It was very impressive at night.
You can't imagine how curious a sensation it was inspecting
the reliefs at night, when all ports were closed and covered. I
stepped out on deck. It was totally black. Occasionally there
would be a flash of phosphorus from the foam alongside, but
that was all. The guard would be invisible at a distance of two
feet. You felt strangely alone in that darkness, with the wind
whistling and the sea rushing past, although the great black
mass beneath you was simply packed with humanity. The
twenty-two posts ranged from the engine room to the hurricane
deck, so, as you can see, I got so that I knew that route like a
bloodhound. When the time came for the guard to be changed,
I would stir up the corporal, and together we would waken the
twenty-two men. No slight job, when you think of fifty men
sleeping pell-mell on and under tables, in heaps all over the
guard-room. A purple blue light (visible only at short dis-
tance) gave a mysterious look to the scene. These men would
239
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
sleepily get together. The corporal called the roll, inspected
the rifles (with me supervising at a distance, as became my
dignity) and then with a few whispered commands, the relief
would disappear into the blackness. At first it took one hour
and fifty minutes to complete the relief. This was cut down to
twenty-five minutes by Corporal Henry, who could take those
twenty-two men through this ship just like a rat.
There is an artillery outfit on board. They despise us because
we're not soldiers (they being regulars) and jeer at our guards.
So many of our men were sea-sick that we simply could n't do
all the guard duty, and they were picked to relieve us every
other day. Their officers boasted to ours : "Now we have a real
military guard over this ship," they said, and St. Gaudens was
sore as a crab. Their first night on duty two men went to sleep
at their posts. A court-martial gave them six months in prison
at hard labor. Our officers and men tease theirs continually
about it, and the situation is a bit strained.
A poor devil in the regiment died of pneumonia today.
Measles and mumps are rather prevalent and we fear a quaran-
tine when we land.
There has been a row among the colored troops below — of
whom there are vast numbers — and three are in the hospital,
cut up with razors.
We reach the Gulf Stream, the third day out. It is as warm
as summer. Blue sky and blue sea look too wonderful. There
is no wind, but a long gentle roll. The boys are sick as pigs.
Do you remember the boy with pleurisy that was dropped off
the litter into the snow three times? He was corporal of the
guard. I was commander at the time. He started out with the
relief about midnight. Presently four or five of them come back,
having lost the rest of the crowd. I rounded them up, and
started out on the trail of the corporal. I bump into someone
in the darkness, and challenge him. It turns out to be a few
more of that relief, also lost, wandering around. The whole
relief was lost. I kept them with me, and started to post them
240
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
myself. On the aft stairway there's a light. As we passed the
stairway a strange bent figure went sneaking up — seat of
trousers dragging on the ground and hand firmly clapped over
mouth. It is the corporal of guard searching for air, so sea-
sick he could n't unbend his knees Can you think of anything
funnier?
When I got to post No. 4 (way down in the bowels of the ship)
the guard, by name, very ugly with ears like a bat, is spin-
ning round and round his gun — the gun being a pivot in the
middle — and blowing right and left as he went around. Vastly
disagreeable, and cheerful for the man who reheved him.
Luckily, I have n't even known a qualm of sickness. Hope it
continues.
Twice a day the bugle blows "Abandon the Ship." Every
man knows exactly what to do — they come up the hatchway
in a fixed order. Thirty-one men and four non-coms for the
first life boat; nineteen men, three non-coms for the first raft,
etc., etc. We've got it down to a science.
There is very little to do. I play cards with and
and most of the time, and have strengthened my meagre
bankroll a bit. They are miserable bridge players.
We are getting into the danger zone. It is a curious sensa-
tion, to know that somewhere around you, beneath the waves,
the enemy lies hidden, waiting his chance to finish you. To
think that at this moment he may be discharging his torpedo.
Rather unpleasant, n'est-ce pas?
Di Colonna is Commander of the Guard. The officer of deck
(Mogul on board ship) comes down to the guard room. "There 's
two soldiers sleeping on deck, against orders," he says. "Throw
'em in the brig; we can't have any of that stuff!"
Colonna gropes his way on deck, searching his prey. He trips
over one, in the blackness, and sprawls on the deck. "Are you
soldiers?" he asks. "Of course we are," this bird answers.
"All right, honey," says Colonna. "You two babies get the
hell out of the captain's back yard, right now, or I throw you
both in the brig, see? "
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EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
And these fellows grab their bedding and duck below like
prairie-dogs! The joke of the matter is that they are both
officers! Imagine it! A captain and a lieutenant of the
Engineers. Of course the other officers don't stop kidding them
at all, and Colonna is so afraid of a court-martial that he 's blow-
ing bubbles. There is no danger, though, as he was perfectly
right. They were out there, in the mortal dread of being
torpedoed and getting drowned in their berths!
I was on guard again last night. We are within 300 miles of
France, and in the worst of the danger zone. All lights except
the dim blue ones go out one hour before sunset — until 7 a.m.
We get two meals per day — at 7.30 and 2.30. You can't con-
ceive of the complete blackness of the boat after the lights go out-
Lieutenant Fry asked a sailor the other day if it was pretty
bad in the danger zone. The sailor said, "Hell, no! It's just
exactly the same then as any other time. You do everything
just the same — except you sleep in the hall or on deck fully
dressed with a life preserver on."
Just the same as usual!
It is a relief to be on guard and have something to do. This
morning at 3.30 Faulkner leaps out of his berth and says "Boys!
The ship has stopped!" Of course we woke with a start —
hearts in mouth, etc. Then we heard a few strange bangs and
crashes — the ship rolling fearfully — and expected to hear the
siren which announces that she's sinking, at any moment.
Nothing happens, so Griswold and I go back to sleep another
wink. Although no one admits it, the tension is quite severe.
It is very rough when I 'm on guard this time. This causes
continuous rumblings and creakings and groanings, which adds
to the general uneasiness.
All night long the colored troops, way below in the hold, pace
up and down the narrow aisles like wild animals. I have a
guard over their stairway, and he 's nearly as frightened as they
are, as the first thing they'd do in a panic would be to clean
him up and clear the stairway.
242
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
A most impressive sight, that. Almost incredible, it is so
stage-like. Hundreds of black men, with the fear of death on
them, squeezing their way up and down, back and forth all
through the night, in the faint light of the swinging blue lights.
The men are no longer sea-sick, but sick to death of the sea.
Grass and trees have been an attraction hitherto unknown. We
get along with the Artillery bunch as pleasantly as two strange
wild cats. One day they arrest as many of our men as possible
(when they are on guard) for all kinds of trivial things. The
next day our men rush to volunteer for guard duty — some-
thing unknown before — in order to arrest as many Artillery
men as possible in the next twenty-four hours. Our officers and
theirs are on pins and needles trying to avoid a row. If it came
to that, every one else on the ship would be with us, as the cocky,
self-satisfied inefficient regulars have made themselves hated
by every one.
I'm still on guard. We have n't moved during the night —
supposedly awaiting our convoy. Pretty ticklish business —
standing still in the war zone.
About ten this moining, without any warning of its approach,
a destroyer comes leaping thiough the waves, rapidly followed
by two more. They appear from all sides at once. All are
strangely camouflaged, according to some new system. We
have studied them carefully from all angles, and they are ap-
parently just as visible as any other boat. One was pretty
good — the first one that came up. In fact it looked like two
boats about a mile away.
They were greeted with wild cheers, and all hands felt that
danger was past. Two of them darted back and forth in front
of us. One on each side would slack off until even with our
stern and then chase up to the bow again. Slack off again, etc.
The other two brought up the rear. . . .
Last night we began to bet on when we'd land. Bridge had
inside dope from a ship's officer and tried to skin us, but we let
him choose his time, and then we bet him his dope was wrong.
243
E\ ERIT ALBERT HERTER
We also made a pool on the exact hour of landing. Bridge bet
we'd land before this morning.
Day broke rather interestingly. At 7.15 no land was in sight
— so we collected from Bridge. At 7.30 we had a brush with a
submarine and their torpedo missed us by about twenty feet,
passing under the stern. The submarine did n't come up at all,
so nobody got a shot at him ^ — -he probably took a chance at
long range and came pretty near getting away with it. It shook
the boys a bit.
Then Embury and I did a lot more betting about when we'd
land. It was rather misty, and no land was visible until 10
o'clock. Suddenly a great rocky headland loomed up in the
mist. You can't imagine what joy it brought to our hearts.
The sea got suddenly very calm, and yellowish green in color
— and we knew that one phase of our adventure was nearly over.
We follow the coast, getting in nearer and nearer. A more
beautiful shore-line would be hard to imagine. The cliffs are
dark purple, with green — probably moss on the rocks, and all
outlines are soft and indistinct in the mist. A great surf beats
on the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, and we see the white foam
leaping up in the crevasses and dashing against the rocks. Sud-
denly there is a break in the cliff. Picturesque trees hang over
the sides and beyond them stretches a wonderful pattern of
brilliant green fields — all shades of green — here and there
spotted with low white farm houses, all fading away into the
mist. Then we pass, and the cliff is before us, apparently with-
out break, until suddenly we catch another glimpse of the in-
land through another break.
We are in an estuary. The shores converge and the water con-
tinues to get smoother. Suddenly we are surrounded by vast
quantities of boats of all sizes riding at anchor. They were
hidden in the mist until we were right on top of them. We
anchor in their midst.
Camouflaged boats of all strange descriptions are on every
side. The Harvard I hear is among them, but I have n't seen
244
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
her. Would n't it be great if I caught a gUmpse of Bough !
There is Httle chance, as we get no leave on shore; I am going
with a detail to attend to baggage, tomorrow, acting as inter-
preter.
In about three days we shall go ashore and probably straight
to our quarters behind the lines. I may not get a chance to
write for a long while, as we shall be sleeping on trains for days
and days. Also we find the censorship very strict.
Good fortune did not appear to follow Herter, for shortly
after landing he contracted mumps and spent weeks in
quarantine. Finally, recovering from that and working
through the miles of red tape which seemed woven to keep
the soldier who had been unfortunate enough to be
sick from returning to his own outfit, he got to Dijon,
where the factories of the Camouflage were stationed
and all the material they used was manufactured and
built. Most of his friends had already gone to the front
and on April 20 he received his orders to follow. He went
first to the Verdun-St. Mihiel sector and early in June to
the Chateau-Thierry front. It was there, on the thir-
teenth of that month, that he was killed with shrapnel,
while out camouflaging a big gun.
A diary he had been keeping ended on June 11, with a
paragraph of peculiar interest in view of its proceeding
from a soldier who was first of all an artist, sensitive,
highly organized.
This life is curiously different from the Verdun front. Up
there the lines have been stationary for four years, and every
few feet is an abri, fifty feet deep often, and always a dugout
of some kind into which you can duck when the shelling starts.
Here there is no protection whatever. All you can do is to hit
245
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
the ground — in a ditch if possible — and let the splinters go
over you. Even then if the shell happens to be shrapnel you are
out of luck. A man either gets callous or his nerves go back on
him. I am a little nervous at times, but generally callous. I
always sleep at every opportunity. One night — with all my
clothes wringing wet, wrapped in two soaking blankets on the
wet ground, my teeth nearly chattering with the cold — I
slept ten hours, while a battery within seventy yards of me
fired 1200 rounds. Two of the guns were thirty feet away and
the explosions lifted me off the ground when they fired. I was
not particularly tired that night, either, having had sleep regu-
larly before, but I never knew a shot had been fired.
A few days earlier he had written: "The curious part
of it all is that we are literally on the eve of battle — one
of the great battles, too — [he did not know that it was
the deciding battle of the war] and you'd think we were
on a picnic. I believe the fearful tension just before going
into battle, that we read about, is more or less an artificial
condition, and can be created or avoided by the right or
wrong word at the psychological moment." To this his
wife has added: "I am sure, and I have heard from his
comrades, that he always had that right word, and that
ability to control the tenor of the thought around him,
with his sense of humor which was peerless, his demo-
cratic and fraternal spirit toward all men; and his cou-
rageous and uncomplaining desire to serve made him the
most beloved man in his Company, They named their
Legion Post the Everit Herter Post in his honor."
Well may those who cared for Herter believe all that
was said in his praise. A few days after his death his
commanding oflBcer, Captain Homer St. Gaudens (Har-
vard, '03), wrote thus to Mrs. Herter:
246
EVERIT ALBERT HERTER
He was the most universally loved and admired man in the
company; one we could least afford to lose. He had only been
at the front a short time, yet had made himself the most valu-
able member of the detachment. I have had more expressions of
regret from officers for whom and with whom he worked than I
could have dreamed was possible. Two days after his death
there came a telegram from Major Bennion ordering him to
Tours for his examinations for a commission. I am enclosing
the lieutenant's bars and insignia that I had bought for him
some weeks ago, planning to give them to him when his com-
mission arrived in some out of the way corner. They are cheap
little trinkets, but I believe they will remind you of what we
thought of him.
He was in charge of the work on a regiment of 75's that oc-
cupied an advanced position. As nearly as I can make out from
the confused stories that have reached me, he was sitting in a
gun emplacement on the morning of June 13th, waiting for
a detail to bring up material when an entirely stray shell ex-
ploded near by and sent a fragment through his body just below
his chest. He managed to reach the main road less than one
hundred yards away where he was picked up by an ambulance
and taken at once to a hospital for the seriously wounded.
I could not go to see him myself in this time of stress. The
first news that came to me the next day was that he had a
chance of living, the next that he had died. He was buried in
the Cimetiere de la Ferte, American Section 14. . . .
Your husband fulfilled his task as courageously and as de-
votedly as any member of the division, which in the last few
weeks has distinguished itself above others with brave men
about it. After all it is not when a soldier dies but how. Of
that how you and your children may have the proudest mem-
ories.
I write you as his captain and his friend.
247
RALPH HENRY LASSER
Class of 1920
J. o Ralph Henry Lasser, a freshman in Harvard College
when the United States entered the war, his Jewish de-
scent and faith were objects of so peculiar a pride and
devotion that they should be mentioned first in any ac-
count of him. But if three things could be named at a
single moment his devotion to America and to his mother
should be recorded at the very same time. Not yet twenty
years old, he was a private in Company E, 101st U. S. En-
gineers, when he was killed at Beaumont in France, June
16, 1918. These statements of fact will suffice for introduc-
tion to the following passages from two letters which he
wrote his mother from France. It will be strange if those
who read them do not wish to know more about their writer.
248
RALPH HENRY LASSER
Somewhere jn France,
December SI, 1917.
My dear Old Mother, —
. . . Today is the last day of 1917. Quite a year that has
been for me, and for you, mother dear. As I look over the past
year, as I think of all that has happened, though sad as it seems,
in fact I am so happy, so content. How can it be, I ask myself,
but it is so.
But ever as when I sit and think, I see you before me, mother
dear. I see you as you were before I left, and I see you on that
night of farewell. Oh, mother dear, I have so much I want to
say to you; but how, oh, how can I say it!
I have often wondered, mother dear, just what you think,
and feel, and ask. Before my last step, you know that you were
to me the dearest, the greatest, the noblest that I had. You
know that for you was my all; for you my ambition, for you
my endeavor, for you my love and devotion. And then, as it
were, you perhaps think I found something greater, something
nobler. Perhaps you feel that though before you were jfirst,
now you are only second. Perhaps you feel that today I strive
for that first, my ambition, my endeavor for that. Before I
went, mother dear, you know it was mother first. But perhaps
you think that after I w^ent it was country first. But let us be
frank, dearest mother, and let us see the fact as it is.
Yes, I have given myself to my country. Perhaps you think
that in thus giving myself I have taken myself away from you,
I have deprived you of myself. Yes, I consider my country
first. Perhaps, then, you may think that you can hold but
second place. Yes, my ambition, endeavor, my love, my de-
votion is to my country and for my country. Perhaps you
think, therefore, that it is not for you.
But, mother dearest, and here is where I want to be clear,
and lay the emphasis.
What is my country? Is it the land of America? Yes. Is
it the world under God? Yes. Is it the peoples of the world
who are brothers under one father? Yes. Is it the institutions
249
RALPH HENRY LASSER
of America and the world? Yes. Is it the ideals, the hopes, the
aspirations of all? Yes.
But what personally and nearest to me is my country? You.
Mother dear, you, who through hardship and privation, through
sacrifice and almost slavery, through pain, through toil, through
all difficulties, have nourished me, cared for me, reared me, edu-
cated me, strengthened me, put the light of hope into me,
given me vision; you, who gave me that life which today I offer
for the good of all; you, mother dear, the first in my soul, the
first in my heart, the first in my ambition, my love, my devo-
tion, you, you, you, are my country, you are my world, you are
the embodiment of what I fight for, sacrifice for, labor for, and
if need be, die for.
Oh, it is hard to make myself clear, it is hard to be exact.
But I trust that you can understand what I am trying to say.
Oh, mother dear, when I, as it were, tore myself from you
and left you, I know not for how long, it was to you that I gave
myself. I took myself away from you, the seed that you had
sown. I gave myself to you the full grown fruit.
There are two of you, and two of me. One of me I took away
from one of you, the smaller. The other of me I gave to the
other of you, the greater, the real one. I took from you the
body around my soul, and the soul that's in me I give. Oh,
mother, I am 4,000 miles from you, farther than I have ever
been before, and yet today I am nearer to you than ever before.
Today you have me as you never did. I used to be your son,
now I am you.
And it is just because things are so, mother dear, that I know
how it will affect you if it be necessary to sacrifice me. But I
know you, mother dearest, I know your power of endurance, I
know your courage. And I have ever perfect faith in you. . . .
And so I say to you, mother dearest, and I give my message
oh the last day of the old year, keep up your spirits, and hope
on, strive on, fight on, and keep your faith in God.
Your Son.
250
RALPH HENRY LASSER
Somewhere in France,
February J^, 1918.
My All, my Mother:
I remember, mother dear, my promise to you as I left you on
that night historic in my life. To you I would remain faithful,
devoted, and true. Thank God, I can truthfully say that I
have remained to you as I promised to, and it is because no
matter what the consequence may be, I am still going to, that
I take pen in hand today and write as I promised to, the truth !
Your sorrows, your grief, your great sacrifice have been
enormous, I know. You have been put to a hard test indeed,
and oh, how proud I am to know that you have not been found
wanting. But just as you have so bravely, so courageously, so
heroically stood the hardships, the sorrows, the sacrifices so far,
so must you now, mother dearest, summon up all your energy,
all your loyalty, and above all, all your faith, and stand the
next great test that comes before you in this struggle to do your
duty, to do your share in the great task that today confronts
all the children of God.
Where will you get that strength? Where can you find the
power to keep you steady, trustful, hopeful, after so much has
been absorbed in the tests already passed? My dear mother,
there is but one way that I know of for you to take.
Man is a wonderful creature. He can do many things, en-
dure many hardships, overcome many foes, and gain many
victories. But there is a limit to the power of the human race,
and there comes a time when the strength of man himself can-
not stand the test before him. Let me recall to your mind the
sufl^erings, the hardships, the mighty tasks before our people,
the children of Israel. You know, mother dearest, how in doing
their mission in the world, the Jews, time and time again, were
on the point of failure. Every bit of strength, of power, even
of hope was gone. They could not mass up enough strength to
pull through. What then did they do? How then did they come
forth gloriously victorious in their mission to the world?
251
RALPH HENRY LASSER
They did, mother dear, just what I want you to do. They
may have lost all strength, all hope, all trust; but never did
the children of Israel lose faith, faith, faith, unflinching in their
God, the God of Israel. And ever in their distress, with a heart
and soul faithful to their God, they would call upon Him, they
would pray to Him, and Him they would ask for the necessary
strength.
And not once was He known to be wanting, when implored
by His people with a faithful and true heart. He turned defeat
into victory. He turned weariness into freshness. He turned
stone into water. He turned water into dry land. He turned
despair into hope; and a people defeated, weary, hungry,
thirsty, down-trodden, depressed, mocked at, jeered at, and
suffering the greatest hardships in the history of the world. He
made the glorious messengers of His gospel. He did so because
they had faith in Him, and because with a faithful heart they
asked for His aid, believing that they would receive it.
And so I say to you, my dear mother, if you find that the
hardships are becoming too severe to bear, if you find that you
lack strength enough, courage enough, hope enough to stand the
test before you, if you find that the sacrifice is too great, if you
need strength, courage, hope — and oh, I hope you have enough
of all, — I know you have, for I trust you — then, my dear
mother, above all, keep your faith, unflinching, undaunted in
your God, and ask Him for help, pray to Him, and believe that
He will help you, have faith in Him, ever, and I know He will
help. He must help; for He is a kind God, a good God, a true
God, when once you learn to understand Him. No matter how
hard you may have to suffer, no matter what tests and sacrifices
you must endure, keep your faith, your faith in God. . . .
I have often heard you say, mother dear, that you were sorry
your mother gave you birth. I know you did n't mean it.
Your life has been a hard one, an exceptionally hard one. Your
sacrifices have been many and very great. But, mother dear,
you have been blessed. For as I look about at my comrades.
252
RALPH HENRY LASSER
as I associate with them, as I learn their thoughts and ideas, I
am given one impression especially. The greatest blessing God
gives carries with it the greatest hardships and sacrifices. For
I am firmly convinced that the greatest blessing God has to
give is the blessing of being a mother. For the meaning of
"mother" to a son is too great for words. "Mother" means
almost something super-human. "Mother" is an ideal.
"Mother" is the angel of God sent to a son. . . .
You have been to me my love, my happiness, my all — my
mother. I have tried to be to you
Your faithful
Son,
The boy who wrote these letters was the only son of
Morris Lasser, of Houston, Texas, and Fanny (Antin)
Lasser. He was born in East Boston, Massachusetts,
October 17, 1898. His mother's maiden name will recall
to many American readers that extraordinary book,
"The Promised Land," by Mary Antin, which describes
the transplanting of a Russian Jewish family from Polotzk
to Boston, and revealed in particular the response of its
writer to the opportunities of a new land. They will per-
haps recall in particular the many references to an older
sister, living after her marriage in East Boston, where
the baby romped in his high chair when the visiting school-
girl aunt read her translations from Latin poets to the
ardently interested young mother. It was of this sister
also that Mary Antin wrote: "Her eyes shone like stars
on a moonless night when I explained to her how she and
I and George Washington were Fellow Citizens together."
From such sources of patriotism, rather than from
ancestry of the kind that explains and places many other
253
RALPH HENRY LASSER
young soldiers as Americans, Ralph Lasser drew his pas-
sionate devotion to the country of his birth. A consider-
able portion of his boyhood was passed in Houston, Texas.
A contributor to a Jewish journal of that place wrote of
him after his death : "He was an eleven year old boy when
I first knew him. But even at that age, all who came in
touch with him could see that there was the making in
him of a genius and of an idealist. The delicate features,
the black silky hair, the soft dreamy eyes, the thin lips,
the gentle voice, all these gave evidence of refinement and
of depth of feeling." In 1912 he returned to Boston and
attended the Latin School, from which he graduated in
1916. He entered Harvard College in the autumn of that
year, without a definite purpose beyond that of educating
himself; but in the course of his abbreviated freshman year
he decided to become a rabbi. He joined the Menorah
Society, and received a Franklin Scholarship.
Of what he meant to those who knew him best in these
days, his friend and classmate, Arthur W. Marget, wrote
in The Jeivish Advocate:
Ralph was nineteen years old — well under the draft age;
he was, at the moment of his embarking for France, about to
enter the Sophomore Class at Harvard; he died as a Private
in the 101st Engineers. Every point of the glorious story of his
sacrifice, it seems to me, requires to be explained to those who
did not know of him and of his idealism.
Already a college man, detesting the idea of war with all the
power of his great soul, he went to France and to his death not
for the love of the fight or the thrill of the moment; he went only
after long communion with himself and with another Power he
felt to be with him in all that he did. Under the draft age, and
254
RALPH HENRY LASSER
barely eligible for service in the army, he enlisted at the out-
break of the war in the old First Corps Cadets — now the 101st
Engineers — he, a college man, as a Private; because this
seemed to him, at the moment, the only way in which he could
satisfy his conscience. . . .
The afternoon before he left, as we were walking together
in Franklin Park, he in his uniform and I in my civilians, he
told me, very quietly and very calmly, that he felt his duty to
be threefold: to his country, to his God, and to his mother, —
who felt as only does a mother feel when she sends her only son
to war. The first two, he said, he could reconcile; the third,
he could not at that moment reconcile with the other two;
but he had enough confidence in what he was about to do to
believe that when the final reckoning came, the three would be
blended to a perfect unity.
He told me again, on the same afternoon, just as quietly and
calmly, that his whole sacrifice had already been made. He had
hurt his mother by his going, — and that was his sacrifice. As
for what was to come, he had no fear. If the worst was to
happen, he did not believe — because he could not — that it
all ended with the machine-gun and the shell-fire. There must
be something, he said, beyond; and in that "beyond" he placed
his faith.
One more word, in this letter to be read by the Jewish com-
munity of Boston, about the Jewishness of Ralph Lasser. His
life was, he felt, his Judaism vivified; not because he was metic-
ulous about religious observance, but because he was steeped
to the depths of his great soul in the spirit of Jewish sacrifice
for Jewish idealism. Lest I should be thought to be viewing the
whole matter from a twisted angle, I mention this one fact.
He had intended, if he lived, to study for the rabbinate, not
through desire for the position it offered, or the openings it
afforded, but for the one opportunity that it presented above
all others — service.
"My only aim in life — is to serve," he told me in his quiet
255
RALPH HENRY LASSER
way, a year before America entered the war, as we were walking
together one evening in the Harvard Yard, — the thoughts of
both of us far removed from the war, of all things. "If I can
serve humanity best as a flower peddler or a bootblack, at six
dollars a week, I'll do that; only — I must serve."
The war came. His ideal was still to serve, God knows how
he had sacrificed his all, to the last ounce of his strength, to the
Jewish ideal of a mission, for service to humanity. He wrote
to me a few months before he died, begging me to send him some
Jewish books. Surely, wherever the soul of Ralph Lasser is at
this moment, he would not wish to be remembered other than
what he stood and lived for, even to his death : a Jewish soldier
in the service of humanity.
In a memorial collection of themes written by members
of "English A" at Harvard and preserved at Warren
House, the headquarters of that course, there is a page of
Lasser's manuscript. It describes the securing of his
mother's consent to leave college and enlist for the war.
Thus it reads :
After several minutes of silence I said, "We must all give
everything we have, even that which is nearest and dearest.
I do, mother dear, realize your sacrifice, your feeling, your de-
voted affection and care. But I am sure that in this hour of
test, you will give all and make the greatest sacrifice. We have
received from our dear country everything, and now we are
called upon to render service in return. I want to serve my
country; I want to serve you, my dear mother. Can I not do
them both, or must I do one and not the other? Must I make
a choice? Please don't make me choose, but do you as a true
American mother give me your consent and let me feel when
on the battlefield I lie that I have left behind not only a mother
than whom none is dearer, but a true American than whom
none is more loyal."
For almost a quarter of an hour there was silence. My
256
RALPH HENRY LASSER
mother was sobbing bitterly, and from my eyes a tear fell now
and then. Soon I heard my mother say, in sobs, yet with for-
giveness, "Go, my son, I will not stand in your way, only may
the good God save you and bring you back to me."
With this consent Lasser joined the regiment of Engi-
neers, the 101st, into which the First Corps of Cadets in
Boston was converted. In the summer of 1917 he and
his comrades received their special training for service
overseas at the Went worth Institute in Boston. On
September 26 they sailed from New York for Liverpool.
Besides the letters from France that have already been
quoted Lasser wrote many others, charged with the same
intensity and exaltation of feeling. The same spirit of
idealism and devotion found expression in the pages of
the two pocket note-books, in the first of which, in-
scribed "Important days and days of thought," Lasser
began to record his impressions and sentiments from the
very day his regiment left Boston. From these pages, and
from those of a smaller "Line a Day" diary in which he
made rough jottings even through part of the final week
of his life, the following passages are taken. On their
significance, in the light of the boy's age and personal
history, it is needless to comment.
Monday, September 2J^, 1917.
. . . Left Boston about 12.30 [a.m. Sept. 25] from train yards
behind Mechanics Building. Thought only of the folks at
home and fell asleep thinking of my dear little sister.
Wednesday, 26.
Left port [New York] at 7 a.m. Saw the shores of America
for the last time for I know not how long. Proud to be able to
go and serve that land of liberty and democracy.
257
RALPH HENRY LASSER
Friday, 28.
At about 2 o'clock we saw the first bit of land, and my heart
was filled with joy at seeing it. About half an hour later we
entered the port of Halifax where we saw many battle and
troopships. As we passed the ships of our allies, our band played
their national anthems and we stood at salute. In the distance
I saw what looked to me familiar, and sure enough there on high
proudly floated the Star Spangled Banner. You can't realize
what it means to see Old Glory until you are on a voyage such
as ours, and have been beyond her folds for several days. The
flag floated over a small American cruiser, the smallest in the
harbor, but there was a part of America, and maybe we did n't
all cheer ourselves hoarse.
Saturday, 29.
I am on guard on the boat today. About 5 p.m. we pulled
out of Halifax, our band playing as we passed the ships of our
allies. There are about eight ships besides our own, all with
British flags, including ours, going together. There are two or
three troopships and the rest are convoys. It feels good to see
other ships always in sight. We put on our life belts when we
left the harbor, and must keep them constantly with us through
the voyage. During my relief on guard, from 3-5 a.m., I
thought of the dear old folks at home. And ever there comes
to my mind how bravely my dear mother sent me off and now
I realize that I was right, and not without ground did I have
such faith in her and claim that it was only a temporary change
that had taken place in her. Only God can repay her, for her
brave and heroic sacrifice. The country can't and I can't
enough, though I will try as much as I can.
Sunday, 30.
. . . The day is dark and dreary, and as I lean over the rail
and gaze into the distance I can see such an immeasurable
expanse of water, water, water. And just as I always like to do
at night and on dark days, I look for that dim light that I always
258
RALPH HENRY LASSER
used to find beyond the darkness, usually from some street
lamp or window.
But today as I look there is not a light to be seen, only water,
water. And at the end of my vision it seems as if the water all
rolled off, and there's the end.
But though no real light is there, yet I can see a light, for I
know that the water does not roll off but extends further and
further, inevitably on. Just as that thought to Columbus meant
the discovery of God's last great gift to mankind, America, so
does that fact to me mean the discovery of God's newest and
greatest gift to humanity, not a continent but an ideal, uni-
versal, everlasting peace, accomplished through the unflinching
service and enormous sacrifice of the sons and especially of the
mothers of that country which God last gave. . . ,
And so with the rest of the boys I go on, and get nearer the
land where the deeds must be done. And I have my little
battles long before I reach the firing line. The greatest of these
at present is homesickness, that everlasting love and devotion
which draws me to my loved ones.
Through those battles I can ever find happiness, the true,
real, only happiness. And though the dark be dark and dreary,
though I'm, as it were, sad, lonely, homesick, yet, as I say,
in my heart glows the fire of hope warming my whole body,
and in my soul beams the light, of, of — happiness. Oh! may
my dear, brave mother share that happiness with me.
Tuesday, 9.
When I woke up I could see land far in the distance, and I
cannot tell how glad I was to see it. There was much beautiful
scenery along the English coast. Arrived in the harbor of
Liverpool at about 6.30 p.m. Thus did my faith in God at the
outset lead me safely to land, and thus did I best the Kaiser
in the first lap of the race. It certainly has every indication
that we will thus win the whole race and victory.
Pulled out of Liverpool about 12.30 a.m.
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RALPH HENRY LASSER
Wednesday, 10.
About 4 A.M. we stopped at a station where we were served
hot coffee. I was greatly impressed by the eagerness of the
young women, who, though they looked all tired out, were
anxious and glad to serve us. In them, there at four in the
morning, working hard, I saw the spirit I wanted to find among
the English.
Passed through some very beautiful country this morning.
Stopped at Oxford for a while. Passed a German prison camp.
Saw many straw huts and many small cottages on the farms.
Arrived at Southampton about 10 a.m. Marched through a
section of the city singing and cheering, and were cheered by
the townspeople. Encamped at the Rest Camp for British
troops and all troops that are soon to cross the channel. . . .
Thursday, 11.
A little English girl today shouted to me that if I would catch
the apple which she had in her hand I could have it. I declined
on catching it, but she insisted that I keep it. As I walked away
I thought of how perhaps that was the only apple she could get
for a long time, and how eager she was to give it to me. Her
father or brother is very likely at the front, or perhaps he is no
longer there. I am proud indeed that I can make my humble
sacrifice that she may find the world better when she grows up
than it is today. And my mind flies away, and I think of my
dear little sister at home, and oh ! I 'm so homesick and yet so
happy, truly happy.
Wednesday, 17.
Today is my birthday. Little did I dream a year ago that
today I would be where I am, doing that which I am doing.
But ever since I have been old enough to understand I knew
that should such a need for my service arise, I would never fail
my country and my God.
Little did my dear mother dream nineteen years ago that she
would have to sacrifice that which she suffered so to bring into
the world. And little did any one think at that time that the
260
RALPH HENRY LASSER
child born in the tenement of East Boston would go forth to
give his all that the children later to be born might have a
better, truer, peaceful world to live in.
Thank God He gave me life and strength these nineteen years
to be available to my country. May He continue in His good-
ness and may He make me able to be of service in the present
crisis. If He will it so, may He send me back to my dear folks
to do my duty to them as they have done theirs for me and my
country. But if it be fated otherwise, and my God wills that
my life be one of the many sacrificed in the achievement of our
cause, then in true faith to Him, and ever trusting in Him, I
shall make my sacrifice as a man, an American, a son of Israel.
Friday, 19.
Awoke to find myself in the French port of Havre. Thus am
I now safe from the peril of submarines, and, thank God, I'm
through crossing waters. Whatever waters I cross from now on
will be in a military manner, perhaps I will have to help bridge
the waters. How proud I am to be on the soil of that plucky,
heroic, unconquerable Republic which has been such a friend,
a true and faithful friend to my own dear country since its
birth. Thank God I have the chance to help my country repay
its debt to France, and to help that Republic in its fight with us
for peace, universal and everlasting, for democracy, for free-
dom. We had a long, hard, uphill march from the docks to
camp. It was very hard indeed and taxed the strength and
endurance of every man. Many had to drop out and be taken
in automobiles. What kept me going I don't know, but some-
how I think the spirit I felt, the determination and zeal that
has ever been with me, put strength into my limbs and renewed
effort into my powers all over, and I made good, stuck it out,
and marched into camp in as fit condition as any man. . . .
Monday, 22.
After a whole day of traveling we arrived about 3.30 p.m.,
at a small French country village knoi^Ti as Rolampont, not
261
RALPH HENRY LASSER
far from Langres, near the river Marne. We encamp in the
barns and empty rooms of the inhabitants. We, as it were,
invade the little village — only as friends not conquerors. How
glad the people are to see us, and how they love us all. My
little French, and you bet it's but little, helps me along greatly.
We get out barrack bags and I get out my French books and
manage to converse with the townspeople. I learn that we are
not over 80 miles from the front, and about 120 miles or so from
Paris. We are just north of Switzerland, and not far from
Verdun, The river Marne flows within seven miles of this
place, and through the town there runs a canal leading to that
river. Thus, you see, we are very near the place where the
bloodiest fighting of the war took place, and where the French
heroically withstood the invader. . . .
November 1, 1917.
The first day of the month, and a red letter day indeed for
me. In the afternoon the regiment marched up to a fort
nearby. . . . Quite a remarkable piece of work. But I enjoyed
much more looking out over the country from a high place. As
I looked over the country, beautiful indeed, and as I saw the
many hills nearby, it reminded me of the New England hills,
and oh, how homesick I felt.
But what awaited me that night — the greatest thing I could
have gotten at that time, mail from home, the first mail.
Maybe my heart was n't filled with joy. Quickly and eagerly
I read my six letters and then went on a night walk all by my
lonesome. And as I looked into the starlit sky the world was
mine, and my faith and trust is with ground indeed.
How happy I am to learn of my dearest aunt's good fortune,
and by it I see my trust in God to take care of my dear ones is
very much worth while. All the letters cheer me so, but of
course the one I saved for last, my dear mother's, though it
makes me happy, sends a tear down my cheek.
And as I walked 'neath the starry sky of France, I think,
and think but I cannot write, my pen simply won't move. This
262
RALPH HENRY LASSER
I know. I am so happy, truly happy, the happiness that comes
when you least expect, from quarters where sadness seems to
fill the air.
How I was glad to see the line of eager soldiers as they went
to get their mails. I have seen a line of hungry soldiers eager
for their food, but a line of eager soldiers hungry for the first
mail from home is a scene that it takes a poet to describe.
Now as I stop this scribbling and poor attempt to write what
I want to, I am going to sleep and think, and think, and dream.
My trust, my zeal, my spirit, my faith I know will keep me on
and on, and to my dying day I shall be happy, happy, happy.
Here's to my dear ones' love and love again, and, still thinking,
let me stop writing.
Sunday, November ^.
Today I attended Regimental Church services and am
determined hereafter to attend them every Sunday. Though
my thoughts have been deep right along, I feel the need of such
inspiration as the services give me.
I am glad to see the human side of soldiering, but oh, how
glad I am to see and take part in the superhuman side. As the
regiment stood at attention, the engineer flag was slightly
lowered and the Stars and Stripes raised on high. Then we
all raised our right hands, and, led by the chaplain, we pledged
allegiance to our flag. What an impression that made on me,
words can never explain. For here we are reciting that well-
known pledge, and in every syllable I can hear the trueness of
those words. Never can we be accused of saying those words
without meaning them, for on a quiet day we can hear the roar
of the cannon on the front where soon we will take our stand
to live up to the pledge we make to that flag. Thank God I
can be one of those proud young Americans to stand beneath
that flag today and pledge allegiance to it.
A gentleman from the Y. M. C. A. of America came to us
today and spoke to us on the romance of religion. He told us
of how soldiers can see romance in the darkest things of war.
263
RALPH HENRY LASSER
And what gladdened my heart was when he said that the
soldiers in the trenches could see in the mud of France, in the
bullets overhead, in the hardships of the war, the onward
march of liberty and freedom, and the coming of peace ever-
lasting.
For so it is with me. Hard as work may be, uncomfortable
as conditions may feel, I can see in the very hardness of the
work, in the uncomfort of conditions, in the mud and dirt
about me, in the blood and wounds and dead, I can see the
brighter side and, as Julia Ward Howe, I can see "the coming
of the Lord." For, after all. He is coming to us with His help,
and in a victory for the Allies He is bringing to us blessings
such as we have never known before.
I sit as I write beside the canal that runs through this town.
Of all the slow things I have ever seen, the slowest is one of these
canal boats pulled by horses. It almost makes me nervous to
watch it. But then I think of how we are moving forward in
this war. Just as the boat goes slow, so, too, do we and our
allies. But also, just as the boat goes sure and reaches its goal
in the end, so, too, are we going sure and I know we will reach
the goal. . • .
November 29.
Thanksgiving Day. Had a real Thanksgiving Dinner.
But the real significance of the day ever remains with me.
How much today I have to be thankful for. Now when it ap-
pears that I have least I really have most. For today I have
health, strength, courage, hope, and faith. What more could
a man ask for at once.
December 31.
. . . It is the last day of the year. And some year indeed has
this been for me. And now as I look out of my window, com-
fortable and content as I am ; as I look out upon the snow-cov-
ered street of this French village; as I see passing before me
children, women, old men, and fellow-soldiers; as I think of
the war, and all that hinges on it; as I let my mind leap across
264
RALPH HENRY LASSER
the ocean to my dear ones; as I think, and think, and think,
of the world and those to come into it; through it all hot and
cold seems to come through my whole frame. I am chilled,
and then, I'm hot; and where I try to say something, I cannot.
I am clogged, as it were. But this I say to myself as I have
never said it before, to myself as I have never said it to anyone ;
and with this I say goodbye to the old year and go courageously
into the new.
Tuesday, January 22, 1918.
Went up to a small camp for German prisoners nearby. They
live there under very favorable conditions. Have plenty to
eat. Cut wood. Had an extended conversation with a German
non-com. He was well satisfied. Said that the German people
had no real hatred for their enemies. Said the Kaiser did not
rule Germany. Said the people did. Is he deceived or not?
How well the Germans and the French guards get along. Oh,
what war is ! Takes men who love each other, as is the natural
love of man for man, and makes them enemies. Oh, may God
make us able to gain such a victory as will make this war the
last war for man on earth and thus let us give vent to the real
worth of man, God's product, and thus we may rise nearer to
our ideal, w^hen earth shall rise nearer to heaven, and when
man in rising shall get nearer to his God.
Wednesday, 23.
Left Chantraines today for a small towm very near, Liffol le
Grand, where there are many infantry, machine gun, and am-
bulance. Nice big Y. M. C. A. At last I will have a chance to
spend my evenings in a place other than the cafes so unpleasing
to me. Saw a basket ball game in the P. M. Saw infantry
drilling and heard the machine guns roar away. Smoke all
about from the firing. We are now very near the front and
undoubtedly after a short, stiff training we'll go forward to
take our place in that line which keeps the rest of the world
safe for democracy. War is becoming more real every day. I
am glad to get away from barrack buildings in jerk towns on
265
RALPH HENRY LASSER
this condition. Although I reahze the dangers and hardships
before me, I am by no means upset, or weakened in my de-
termination and zeal. I hope to be one of the lucky ones to
come out all right, but if my fate be otherwise, I am ready and
willing.
Thursday, 2^.
Today was a warm, beautiful day, just like spring in the dear
old States. I stood up on the hill where our barrack is and looked
down into the plain below where the other troops are. I could
see the scattered lines of infantry drilling. I could see the smoke
of guns, I could hear the steady roar, and the repeated shots
of machine guns. All was a beautiful, a wonderful sight. And
oh, what a feeling came over me. First of joy, then sorrow. I
thought of it all and what it all meant. I thought of those
men, and how many would never come back. I thought of
those guns, and how they would mow down our brothers in the
enemy's lines. I thought of these men, and how they would
sacrifice all for the noble cause. I thought of the mothers, and
wives, the sweethearts, the children at home, who may never
again see their dear ones. And oh, what a feeling, oh, what
thoughts. Words were never made which could describe them.
Oh, it was God that was with me, God that spoke to me. But
what He said must be felt, it cannot be told in words. But,
somehow as in a dream He seemed to say to me: — "Ralph,
your turn is soon to come. Are you ready?" And still as in a
dream, with chills going through me I felt that I straightened
up, peered into the beautiful skies above me, and not from my
mouth but from my heart, my mind, my soul, my all, I answered,
"lam."
Monday, 28.
Started in digging practice trenches today. Now the real
tough training starts, six hours on and twelve off. Night work.
And I 'm mighty glad to get down to the grind of war. I know
it's got to be done and I know I'll make good. Soon I expect
we '11 be doing the actual work at the front, and I 'm willing and
266
RALPH HENRY LASSER
ready to take my place in that line of men which holds back
the enemy. . . .
Saturday, February 9.
Arrived at Soissons today. That city shows the ravages of
war, simply awful. Hardly a building with a roof, and all were
of stone. So many razed to the ground. Almost no window
panes in the town. . . .
Went through a section of the trenches and fortifications
formerly held by the Germans. Situated on a high hill, the city
of Soissons in the valley below was an easy target for the guns
of the enemy, and the enemy certainly used them as a target,
too. How on earth they were ever driven from that stronghold
I cannot comprehend, but they were, and that is why tonight
I can sleep on that hill.
Expect to hike further on tomorrow, nearer and nearer to
the front. All our moving now is on foot because we are too
near the front to go by train. And maybe that pack of mine
is n't heavy , it 's a-wf ul ! But I know I'll make good. I'll exert
all the strength I can summon, and onward we will go to our
places.
Must wear gas mask all the time now. Can have no lights
at night. Must always be prepared to take shelter from air-
planes.
I 've seen the devastation of war, I 've seen the line formerly
of the enemy, I've walked across what was once "No Man's
Land" in one of the most terrible and bloody sections of the
fight. And with my spirit, my determination, and my hopes
undaunted I go on, on to my post, with faith in God ever,
and love, love, love for my dear ones, my dear old mother
there at home. May the Lord bless her and keep her and may
it be His will to bring me back to her. Amen.
From this time forth the entries, confined to the "Line
a Day" diary, are mere notes, chiefly recording the day's
work — on trenches, roads, sick horses, dugouts, the
267
RALPH HENRY LASSER
receipt of letters and packages from home, and the boy's
dehght in getting them. There are many notes of "heavy
artillery at night," and on May 5 comes this item : "Went
to the front line tonight to dig. First time in front line.
Some sensation. An awful dark, rainy, miserable night.
Nothing doing, so all came back O. K., only so hungry
and so sleepy." Often there is nothing but the single
word "Worked": on May 23 it is "Worked; saw Elsie
Janis" — ^ this on May 23, while back of the front line.
On June 5 the jotting reads: "Worked. Left about 6.30
for Beaumont, about nine kilos nearer the front. Arrived
there about 11 p.m. Live in dugout much better than
some. This town pretty well shot up. We relieve A Co.,
who's been having it here for two months." June 7:
"Was captain's orderly and answered the telephone.
Some strain! On gas guard from 9 p.m. to 1.30 a.m. Gave
two alarms for a few gas shells. Bombarded at midnight
and about 1 a.m. shrapnel fell near me while I had my
gas mask on and was in the doorway of a dugout." June 9 :
"On guard from 9 to 1,30. A good-sized bombardment
evening, hit ammunition dump and caused a big fire
which lasted all night. Some gas came over and many
shells. An awful night, and I was tired out and my
nerves are on edge."
The last entry of all was on June 11: "On guard. Big
bombardment on both sides. Some night!" The days of
the week, for two weeks more, are pencilled opposite the
dates in the little book, but beyond Sunday, June 16, he
saw none of them. That day he was killed while on gas
guard duty.
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RALPH HENRY LASSER
To Lasser's mother, the captain of his company, John
E. Langley, wrote on June 18:
All of us have to die at some time and when our time comes :
surely a soldier's death is the most glorious of all, and your
boy's death is that of one who has left a name behind him
"whose memory is as sweet honey in all mouths" for he died
at his post of duty, while as guard to protect his comrades.
It happened on Sunday, June 16th, in the early morning.
We had been subjected to a heavy bombardment by the Boche,
and Ralph, who was a member of the gas guard, was at his
post keeping watch to see that his comrades might be warned
in the case gas came over. A heavy shell burst in the air near
his station, and his death, which was instantaneous, resulted
from the shock, so that there was no suffering whatever.
Reverent hands closed his eyes, and his casket was borne to
the grave draped with the flag he loved so well and for which
he died. The firing squad fired the last volley, and taps was
blown. He has been buried on American soil even though it
is in this country, and the grave will always be cared for care-
fully, for it is the grave of a hero and "E" Company will
always cherish his memory. The entire company joins me in
expressing to you our sincere sympathy.
One of his comrades, writing to a friend, in the follow-
ing month, said further :
I was doubly honored in being picked for the squad firing the
salute above his grave. The service was of course Jewish, and
I could not help but feel the depth and seriousness of it, and I
noticed the earnest comradeship in the faces of the other men
at the grave — boys of all nationalities and creeds, but all
Americans of the creed of Democracy and God.
If you can only tell this to his mother, I am sure that it will
serve to lessen her grief and make her very, very proud of her
boy. And tell her, please, that one of his own company, telling
269
RALPH HENRY LASSER
me about Ralph, said, "Lasser sure was game, for he stuck
right to his post (he was a gas guard) through the heaviest
bombardment ever seen." And he certainly meant every word
of it.
Thus did the young idealist confront the reality of war,
and prove himself the man he had hoped to be.
270
EDWARD BALL COLE
Class of 1902
JVlLajor Cole, of the United States Marine Corps, was
one of the few Harvard men who had long pursued the Hfe
of a professional soldier when their country entered the
war. He was therefore exceptionally equipped to render
valuable service. This ended with his death in valiant
action at Belleau Wood in the effort which enabled Presi-
271
EDWARD BALL COLE
dent Wilson to write: "Thereafter the Germans were to
be always forced back, back; were never to thrust success-
fully forward again."
Though the annals of the Cole family relate its descent
to the traditional "Old King Cole" of England, it is
enough for the present purpose to chronicle the fact that
Edward Ball Cole, born in South Boston, Massachusetts,
September 23, 1879, was a descendant, in the ninth gen-
eration, of that James Cole whose name is perpetuated in
Cole's Hill at Plymouth. Charles Henry Cole and Mary
(Lyon) Cole were his parents. He was a younger brother
of Brigadier-General Charles H. Cole, of the 26th Division.
As a boy he attended a private school in Plymouth, the
Boston Latin, and the Hopkinson Schools in Boston.
From the last of these he entered Harvard with the Class
of 1902. There he remained two years, in the course of
which he played on the freshman football and baseball
teams, and joined the Institute of 1770, D.K.E., Phi Delta
Psi, Fencing, and Owl Clubs. A classmate, at both school
and college, has written of him: "Eddie was quarterback
on his freshman eleven and a good one, winning in a driv-
ing rainstorm from Yale at New Haven, 9-0. He was
second base on the ball team, and again we won. He was
one of the leaders in the class at college, jolly and care-
free, always ready for anything that turned up, especially
if it was anything mischievous. He was decidedly popu-
lar." Summing up his memories, this classmate writes:
"A good companion, a good friend, and a good soldier.
What more can a fellow be.^^"
It was through a long course of training that Cole be-
came the good soldier he was. Leaving college in 1900, he
272
EDWARD BALL COLE
was employed for a portion of that and the following year
in mining at Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. He then returned to
Boston and entered the brokerage business. In the spring
of 1904 he was appointed a second lieutenant in the Marine
Corps, and from May 7, 1904, to February 11, 1905, served
at the Marine Barracks, Annapolis, Maryland. From this
time forth he performed the duties of a Marine officer both
at sea and in many shore posts in the United States and
the Philippines. In 1914 he served in Porto Rico and,
twice, in Mexico. He was promoted to first lieutenant
February 22, 1907; to captain May 1, 1914; to major
May 22, 1917. For several years before the war he made
a special study of machine guns, on which he wrote and
published a number of articles. He was the author, also,
of a field book for machine gunners, and invented a tripod
for machine guns and a portable cart with pneumatic
tires and wire wheels to carry the Lewis gun and ammuni-
tion. When the United States entered the war he was
already the Marine Corps member of the joint Army,
Navy, and Marine Corps Machine Gun Board. In this
capacity he served both at Marine Corps Headquarters
in Washington and on special temporary duty at arsenals
and factories where machine guns were made. In July,
1917, he was detached from Headquarters and joined the
Marine Barracks at Quantico, Virginia, where the 1st
(later renamed the 6th) Machine Gun Battalion was or-
ganized, August 17, 1917, with Major Cole in command.
With this organization, developed to a high state of effi-
ciency under his leadership, he sailed, December 8, from
Newport News, Virginia, in charge of all the troops on the
U. S. S. De Kalh, which, after stopping at New York, pro-
273
EDWARD BALL COLE
ceeded to France. His command remained unchanged
until his death in the following June.
The 6th Machine Gun Battalion, a unit of the 4th
Brigade (Marines) and of the 2d Division of Regulars,
made a notable record from its arrival in France until after
the Armistice, when it marched into Germany with the
Army of Occupation. Li the six months of Major Cole's
command of it in Europe it was stationed first, until
March 15, 1918, in the Bourmont training area; then,
until May 14, in the front line sector with the other ele-
ments of the 2d Division, to the south of Verdun; and
after a fortnight of open- warfare training was ordered
suddenly, on May 31, to quit the training area round
Givors-Chaumont-en-Vexin and move to the Chateau-
Thierry section of the front line. While it was in the
Bourmont training area, the Lewis machine gun equip-
ment of the Marines, of which Major Cole had made so
close a study, was superseded by other apparatus. It was
after the consequent work of readjustment was accom-
plished that Major-General Harbord took command of the
Marine Brigade of the 2d Division. Of Cole he has more
recently written in retrospect: "He had made a pre-war
study of machine guns and was in the front rank of ex-
perts in the use of that arm, knowing the details of their
manufacture from actual inspection in the factories, and
being familiar with the principles that governed their
technical use in war. We all had confidence in his judg-
ment and deferred to him as an authority in his special
arm." From this statement the value of Major Cole's
services both in the training of his men and in leading them
in battle may readily be inferred. When they entered the
274
EDWARD BALL COLE
Verdun sector they met with experiences summed up in
the official "History of the Sixth Machine Gun BattaHon"
as follows: "During the period of service in the front line
trenches in this sector the companies participated in re-
pelling raids, patrolling No Man's Land, repairing barbed
wire, constructing trenches and machine-gun emplace-
ments, indirect fire, barrage fire, and harassing fire."
After two months of this and a fortnight of special train-
ing for open warfare, they were ready for the first of their
most costly and rewarding operations.
On June 2 the companies of the battalion were in posi-
tion. Early the next morning this order was received:
"The French troops received orders to retake the posi-
tions they have just lost. The American troops will main-
tain at all costs the line of support they occupy — Bois de
Clerembault, Triangle, Lucj^-le-Bocage, Hill 142, north
corner of Bois de Veuilly. They will not participate in the
counter-attack which will be made to retake the position
of the French. General Harbord directs that the neces-
sary steps be taken to hold our positions at all costs."
For several days violent attacks were successfully resisted.
Then the Marines began to advance. "On June 10th,"
says the "History" already quoted, "the American artil-
lery laid down a heavy barrage from 3.30 a.m. to 4.30 a.m.
on Belleau Wood, preparing the way for the attack by the
1st Battalion, 6th Marines. At 4.30 the attack went for-
ward supported by the guns of the 77th Company and six
guns from the 23d Company. The objective was gained
and all guns consolidated the position. . . . Four guns
from the 23d Company, five guns from the 77th Company,
and two guns from the 15th Company, went forward with
275
EDWARD BALL COLE
the infantry. The machine guns from these companies
and the guns under Lieutenant Hart in Bouresches laid
down a barrage, for half an hour before the zero hour on
Belleau Wood, thereafter on assembly points of the enemy.
During this attack Major Edward B. Cole, the battalion
commander, fell mortally wounded."
Before going into such a fight a soldier like Major Cole
knew well what might befall him in it, and wrote thus to
his wife:
I am leaving tonight hurriedly for the big battle and expect
to be in it before many hours. Should I not return, sweetheart,
remember that I love you and am thinking of you and our dear
boys and mother. You have been a dear and noble wife and
mother, and I am leaving my dear little boys in the best possible
hands. In after years they will comfort and take care of you.
Kiss them for me and tell them that I consider that I am hon-
ored in being able to offer my country my life. God bless you
and them and keep you safe from all harm.
After he was wounded and before his death on June 18,
in a military hospital at Coulommiers, the following ac-
count of the circumstances was written from France:
On June 10, an infantry attack, supported by machine guns,
had been ordered to clear the woods of the enemy and his ma-
chine gun nests. Ned was in command of the machine guns,
and moved forward from his regular post of command to his
battle post of command. His adjutant tried to dissuade him
from moving, telling him that he could direct his machine guns
better from where he was than from the forward position. Ned
replied that he (the Adjutant) could look after the fire of the
machine guns as it was all laid out, but that he would go for-
ward, and that, in view of the high explosive and gas shells that
276
EDWARD BALL COLE
were landing around his regular post of command, there would
be no more danger in the battle post of command than where he
was.
On going forward he found seventy-five or one hundred men
who had become separated from their officers, and who were
lost and did not know what to do. Taking in the situation at a
glance, he saw an opportunity for a flank attack on the nest of
machine guns which was holding up the frontal attack.
He directed the men he had collected to follow him, and led
them in a flank attack. The attack was a surprise to the enemy,
and he and his men had nearly reached the machine gun nests
before they were discovered. It was then too late for the enemy
to turn their machine guns on the attacking party, so they re-
sorted to hand grenades.
Ned was wounded in the arm and in the leg by grenades which
he did not see when another one was thrown at him. He grabbed
it up in his hand to throw back before it exploded to save his own
men from the danger of the explosion, but it went off while his
hand was raised. The fragments went through both arms, both
legs at the thigh, his ankle and into his face. His right hand was
shattered. His men went right ahead and captured the machine
gun nests and thirty-five guns. Not satisfied with this, they
kept on going and attacked a German offensive that was about
to start and broke it up, chasing the enemy out of their positions.
Ned, left alone, started to crawl back under rifle fire. He got
back some distance when he was picked up by some of his men
and carried to the rear. During this time he had lost a great
amount of blood, and with the shock was left in a very weakened
condition, so weak, in fact, that they did not dare to take him
further than the first operation hospital.
They started to operate on him the night of June 10-11, but
had to stop on account of loss of blood. He was given two saline
solutions to try to save him and finally a transfusion of blood
from one of the members of the Field Hospital. The doctors
gave him up as a hopeless case with no expectation that he would
277
EDWARD BALL COLE
recover. He himself, however, never gave up, and his grit
carried him through that night, June 11-12. In the morning
he was a httle better, and improved a Uttle during the day. I
saw him that night, June 12. He was irrational, though he knew
me. I saw him again in the morning, June 13. His mind was
normal, but he was utterly exhausted. He improved during that
day and the next night. The next morning, June 14, the doctors
said that, barring unforeseen conditions arising, he would pull
through successfully.
His act was a most courageous one, and was highly successful
in bringing about the capture of the machine guns. It was an
act that he was not called upon in his line of duty to perform,
because he was a machine gun officer, but he saw the oppor-
tunity, realized the necessity for it, and took upon himself the
leading of this attack. His whole record upon the front has been
a wonderful one, and his machine guns have done more toward
stopping the enemy on this front than any other single agency.
When his brother, General Cole, visited him in the hospi-
tal, Major Cole begged him to bring oranges and cham-
pagne to the other wounded men about him, believing
their sufferings to be worse than his own. In this and in
the flowers his brother brought to him he found much
happiness. "I have been thinking of flowers all day," he
said, pressing them to his face, "and now I have them."
He spoke continually of his soldiers, and sent his wife and
children the message that if the Germans were defeated
by the time he was well enough to walk he would come
straight home; if not he would insist on returning to the
battle. Only an hour before the news of his death reached
General Harbord, that officer received from Major Cole
the message that he would soon be out of the hospital and
fighting again. He was buried in the American military
278
EDWARD BALL COLE
cemetery at Moiiroux, with permanent burial to follow
in the American Belleau Wood Cemetery at Belleaii.
It is a familiar fact that the general commanding the 6th
French Army issued an order before the end of June, 1918,
that the Bois de Belleau should henceforth be known
officially as the Bois de la Brigade de Marines. In special
honor to Major Cole the United States Navy gave his
surname to Torpedo Destroyer Number 155, launched in
January, 1919. In July, 1918, the Distinguished Service
Cross was awarded to him in the following terms:
In the Bois de Belleau, on June 10th, 1918, displayed ex-
traordinary heroism in organizing positions, rallying his men
and disposing of his guns, continuing to expose himself fearlessly
until he fell. He suffered the loss of his right hand and received
wounds in upper arm and both thighs.
His memory was honored also by the award of the Navy
Cross, the Croix de Guerre, with palm, and the order of
Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. Besides these official
recognitions there are such words as those of Major-General
John A. Lejeune, Commandant of the Marine Corps, de-
scribing Major Cole who served under him in the Philip-
pines, Mexico, and the LTnited States, as "one who, from
his entry into the Marine Corps to the hour he fell in
battle, over fourteen years, faithfully adhered to the
principles of a gentleman and officer of the United States,
and added to the traditions of his Corps. Personal con-
duct and character," General Lejeune went on to write,
"count ever for most in those who would faithfully serve
and be true to the ideals of their country, and Major Cole
stands out as an exemplary possessor of those virtues,
279
EDWARD BALL COLE
which are the requisites of a real American. ... As
during life he was an inspiring example to all, so in death
— a soldier death on the battlefield — his spirit hovered
over his comrades urging them on from victory to victory."
From General Harbord comes the declaration that "it
was the gallantry of men like Major Cole which won from
the French High Command the order that the Bois de
Belleau should hereafter forever bear the new name of
the Bois de la Brigade de Marines. The story of their
valor reads like a romance of the First Empire, and has
forever immortalized the splendid brigade to which Major
Cole and the men he led were proud to belong. Peace to
his brave soul, and may the story of his death for his
country stir the sons of Harvard as long as men honor gal-
lant deeds and manly lives!"
A single letter remains to be quoted. It was written
by Major T. G. Sterrett of the Marines, to the older of
Major Cole's two sons: "You can always remember your
father as one of the biggest heroes of this war. He gave
up his life gloriously in the battle that turned the tide and
was the beginning of victory. The w^orld is grateful for
his sacrifice, which has meant for you the loss of your dear
father. I give you my sincere sympathy, but I know that
you and your brother will always be comforted in the
knowledge that his life was given to make the world a
safe place to live in."
280
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr
Class of 1905
Alvah Crockek, Jr., was born in Fitchburg, Massa-
chusetts, April 3, 1882, a son of Alvah Crocker (Harvard,
'79) and Charlotte Trowbridge (Bartow) Crocker. His
brothers are Douglas Crocker, '10 and John Crocker, '22.
He prepared for college at Groton School, entering Har-
vard in 1901, There he played on his freshman football
team, was a substitute on the Universitj^ team, and cap-
281
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
tained his junior class team. He was a member of the
D. K. E., Institute of 1770, Hasty Pudding, and Delta
Phi Clubs. After completing his course in three years,
he returned to receive his A.B. with his class in 1905.
From 1905 until the spring of 1909 he worked at Fitch-
burg in the paper mills of Crocker, Burbank & Company,
of which his father was president. While thus engaged
in learning the paper business, he was married, October 19,
1907, to Harriet Greeley of Chicago, a sister of Samuel
Arnold Greeley (Harvard, '03). Though business was
not congenial to his tastes, he stuck to the preparation for
it through manual labor until he was offered a position in
his father's firm. By this time he had satisfied himself
that he could never be happy in business, and deter-
mined to study the profession of architecture. Accord-
ingly, in the spring of 1909, he went to France to begin
his studies. From the beginning he exhibited an aptitude
and love for his new work which ensured his ultimate
success. In June, 1911, he was admitted to the Ecole des
Beaux Arts, and needed but three more points for his
diplome when the Ecole was closed on account of the war
with Germany.
Crocker and his wife immediately entered upon the
work organized for the help and relief of their French
colleagues by the American students of the Beaux Arts
{Comite des Etudiants Americains de V Ecole des Beaux
Arts). Besides giving aid to the families of Beaux Arts
men at the front, this committee rendered great service
by keeping these men in touch with their families when
the German invasion drove them from their homes. Later
on a "Gazette" was published monthly and sent to each
28^
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
man at the front, giving news of his fellow-students, and
serving as a valuable aid to morale.
When the United States entered the war, Crocker im-
mediately sought an opportunity for service — a matter
none too easy to accomplish in France. On July 13, 1917,
he became a civil employee on duty with the Engineers
attached to the First Division. On October 6, 1917, he
returned to Paris, where he remained until November 20,
1917. On that date he was commissioned second lieu-
tenant. Engineers Reserve Corps, and ordered to Brest,
where he took an important part in the colossal task of
building that great port and base — a feat in construction
remarkable both from the magnitude of the project and
from the speed with which it was accomplished in the face
of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
A few passages from Crocker's letters, both as a civil
employee with the Engineers of the First Division and as
an officer at Brest, will serve to suggest equally the nature
of the work he performed and the manner of man he was.
GONDRECOURT,
July U, 1917.
I 've been getting acquainted some, believe me, not with one
but with many persons and finding out how to be useful. There
is much long-winded patience needed and a fair amount of
brains.
We've been sitting around a table before a provincial hotel,
watching khaki uniforms and chasseurs uniforms go back and
forth. I 'm hungry and tired, out of doors the whole time. The
major is a good man in his line. I wish they could say as much
of me. I worked till late on water questions — wells, springs
and sanitation. I go at it again soon. There's plenty to do
and not half enough done, and little Willie is damn near dead.
283
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
July 15, 1917.
I've got a real job, without my galons, to be sure, but
I've got here in time to be useful and before our American
Engineers Regiment. So when they come I'll be as useful
knowing the ropes as any of their lieutenants. My good old
boss leaves tomorrow. He sure is a peach or I fail in judging
human nature, which Monsieur Thiers, the historian, says is
the basis of law.
Meanwhile I work and feel fit.
July 17, 1917.
Today I interpreted between three aiimoniers, two priests and
a pastevr — (1) Mr. Armstrong from Chicago, the Episcopal
minister from your country-side; (2) A snappy young chasseur
Pasteur, French Protestant; (3) A Roman Catholic priest, in
almost the same garb! They were trying to get together, and
Mr. Armstrong suggested they combine forces in the chapel
now being knocked up. I hope they do forget differences of
theology and get to business. They are all three right and
stand for character. Then the Y. M. C. A. secretary wanted
me to apply for club barracks. I hope to obtain them. I'm
being given an object lesson by the finest trio of French engi-
neers in one branch of work I ever knew. They are so capable
and patient. I'm aghast at their efficient methods. Our men
are splendidly organized too. The difference in French and
American temperament, different ways of doing the same kind
of work, is most interesting. Our men grind things out; theirs
take things differently under different circumstances.
July 20, 1917.
I am dead tired and have a hard day's work (not bad fun)
ahead of me tomorrow. It is a shame I cannot get in touch
with the boss as it seems to take ages to get anything moving
and there is such quantities of interpreting to do and so few
interpreters. I think it is a good thing in the long run as the men
will learn French that much quicker. It is funny to be here.
I like it and yet I'm not clever enough to please everybody.
284
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
July 25, 1917.
I have a large report to put in today and so I cannot write
at length. I have gotten aw-fully fatigued during the time since
I got here moving around between the various departments in
both American and French authorities for every nail or plank
or hammer that I had to have. Having no workman yet I am
doing both the work of design, executive and messenger serv-
ice to the various heads without even a bike and I have to
walk from one town to another. I do not faire la bile, but
yesterday I was sorely tried, not being able to get documents,
but which I have obtained since.
August 6, 1917.
The French General here got off some hot air about my
French, intending a compliment. He said that there was only
one foreigner he knew could talk French as free from accent as
yours truly (Guess — you never will!) Le Tzar de la Russie!
The boys here say he wanted me to know he knew the Czar.
Aitgust 10, 1917.
Again I am left as sole survivor with this division and hope
I get something done while Major is in Paris. He is fine,
though he makes no allusions to a commission for me. Tant
mieuxl I do not in the least mind, although I am continually
impeded in my work not having galons. Major admits
now that I have been up against unusual odds and, although no
word has slipped by, all blame at least has escaped my shoulders.
I am far from giving up, or in or out, but turn up smiling in
the morning and putt, putt up and down this camp where our
boys are getting the training that we all hope will make good
soldiers out of good material. Meanwhile it would seem to me
that much real energy is wasted by the bushel that might be
avoided. However, energy, like expanding our muscle, re-
news itself by use and although misdirected forms a reservoir
of more energy which may become directed after training and
experience has proved the value of knowledge.
The French may have faults, but we have inexperience, and
285
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
when they act it is to the point and our intelHgent men under-
stand that quahty better every day. It is interesting to see
the difference in the national characteristics at work in the
army after seeing the difference in the atelier. And with the
training I feel sure that by degrees we will pull together with
the French through our innate sense of pride to be brave, in-
telligent, and energetic. We are like an uncut stone — still
full of rough edges. Did I tell you that I had had the experi-
ence of interpreting for General de Castelnau. He's a big,
strong, simple person with extraordinary sensibility and handled
a delicate situation with tact and strength and almost with
humor. There is one quality which we seem to lack and that
is this — all our efficiency, energy, and singleness of purpose
in most cases lacks the saving grace of humor. Our humor
when it shows itself is tinged with the smart element of "Am
I not clever!" Yes, clever, my boy, but not humorous. It is
too soon to look for humor, and yet why not? If we had just
one little bit more humor it would be with such lightness of
touch that we'd be learning war. The hand of steel need be
none the less strong beneath, and so much less difficult would
each day be. But no — press, press, press. Try to do what is
just around the corner, nor take time to enjoy what you are
doing right now. Restless inanity and missing out in true
efficiency. Ye gods — nay rather may God Himself shower
the earth and smile on sunny days — or in warm hearts, this
His most blessed of saving graces! Humor, all- comprehending,
cries out to deaf American ears. Rare as a day in June, or a
day in peace-time.
September 3, 1917.
I fear my prognostications are true and that we are very
thorough on the whole, but utterly lacking in certain humorous
phases which give life the charm it might possess even in war-
time — although it's a dirty business and I wish it were over.
There is a great esprit de corps among the men from north
and south, east and west. Would that hecatombs were not the
286
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
sure fate towards which we were working! Madness — madness.
If I knew some other way but this warHke method — and I
secretly revile myself for not having discovered one — me-
thinks Our Lord might have ! He was of a different race, and a
race far more intellectually sensible to the meaning of humility
than we are.
September 9,1917.
. . . Forgive a letter written by a man whose brain is con-
fused with excessive application to R. R. forms and numbers
a mile long. — As Major Graves said when I told him I did n't
want my kid brother to get ahead of me — "Well, he could n't
get a commission in the Engineer Corps." Cock-a-doodle-doo!
I have n't got it yet.
September 12, 1917.
I desire to make use of my years of experience to help put
a drop into the bucket for freedom. Although I feel that victory
would help to establish an immortal world democracy, yet I
am sanguine of good results only in so far as I see the suffering
develop men's hearts and unselfishness. This is by way of
explaining that if I do not climb the ladder, it is to be of use
and very humbly.
September 22, 1917.
I look upon the war as merely an incident even if it prove to
be the closing incident, though I hope it be only one more
experience. . . .
My appointment is so long in coming that I begin to doubt if
I'll get a lieutenancy. Tant pis! If it does n't come through,
I regret that my sphere of usefulness will be the more limited,
that's all. I'm sure, however, that some day I'll get some sort
of a job, and I 'm sure that my appointment damn near went
through.
September 29,1917.
It's blessed to be neither dead, prisoner, nor estropie, and to
live in the hope of seeing you soon again. I wish we had regular
intervals which we might count on as the French do for return-
ing to the bosom of our families. Perhaps some day we'll have
287
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
regular permissions like the French. If not, it will continue to
be the hardest thing we do to fight the longing, the dull ache,
for our beloved ones.
[Through all these weeks Crocker was ardently hoping
for the commission to which he had been recommended,
in the following terms, by a captain of engineers: "Mr.
Crocker has been working with me on construction and
repair work in the First Division area and has been of
great assistance by reason of his clear knowledge of the
French language and people." At length the commission
came. The remaining letters were written from Brest.]
Brest.
November 21, 1917.
Have some type in my companion, who's a fine chap. Saw
and reported to a colonel for whom I've already done work.
He remembered me and was cordial. Says we're up against
another tough proposition — someone 's got to do it, so if we
fail we'll be replaced. Hence, we're going to leave no stone
unturned. Air here is fine salt air. Sunny for three hours after
our arrival — weather's our least worry. It's like having a big
horse to ride — whether one can jump on or not is the only
question — once on there's no doubt of being taken over fences,
but precious small chance of being able to get on his back!
Another such as was mine in July.
November 28, 1917.
Things are beginning to look less desperate here. However,
we've not done as much as we hoped to in a week. I'm kept
hard at work and so is everyone. Oh this cruel war — such
waste of material and life, and I was going to say time — but
time seems to count for little these days.
November 29, 1917.
Today . . . has been a good example of a hard day. Got to
work immediately after breakfast, a ten-minute walk from the
288
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
hotel down by the old castle. Did some interviewing and trot-
ting around, and all the time find French indispensable. We
came back to the hotel for lunch and returned at once — stop-
ping for a cup of coffee and cigar at a cafe on the way back —
no real loaf — just a stop for ten minutes and then push on.
The hardest thing is doing work and obtaining what you think
is a definite thing to go on — and find that you have a repeti-
tion of the work to enforce the well-meaning intention into
action. You know these dear happy-go-lucky people as well as
I do, and they do try so hard and get so far and have to be
driven tactfully without getting their goat, and behind you the
fear of not getting enough done. Yes, still the steed is to be
mounted and he gets bigger every day and the chance of get-
ting on seems near, and then you are let down by some occur-
rence or circumstance and have to begin again. However, we
have done a lot and it does n't show for much either, and yet
we have every hope of accomplishing our mission.
December 6, 1917.
We are accomplishing much more than we did upon our
arrival, doing everything that we can lay our hands on! How-
ever, even at that we are hampered by the lost effort of adjust-
ment between American and French ways, and I get pretty
tired translating. There is every advantage in taking a large
point of view and I insist upon myself to come up to the mark
in this matter. But you know how hard it is to force French
people, and we've about given up trying to — personally I
should never have tried.
December 12, 1917.
I have just had my first experience employing German pris-
oners. There was a boss, a German architect, and four men.
We had to give them a small tip for working them in the noon
hour. The big Prussian architect was n't a bad looking fellow,
and they did my job loading boards and unloading the same
on and off a big motor truck.
Today was a full one — suddenly we had to prepare for many,
289
AL\ AH CROCKER, Jr.
many men on short notice, requiring us to work preparing
quarters for them. We will have a company of laborers to look
after, and that may prevent my getting off for Christmas!
Don't get too blue: as one black negro said today — "I jest
doan write as it done gone make me sad and sorrowful to think
of my wife grieving for me, so I jest doan write at all," but he
added, "guess I'd better write her to send me some money —
say boss, when do you think dey's gwine to pay us off?" He
said his wife could n't write him because she did n't know just
what part of the States he was in !
December 28, 1917.
Perhaps better days are in store for us — for all of us — and
the poor sufferers who have nothing much to live for — suffer-
ers because of the war. To think that cupidity, lust for power
and selfishness, dressed up in the garb of a so-called civilization,
should bring people who know what Christ stood for to each
other's throats! However, so far we have proved inapt to
comprehend the true meaning of our Enfant Jesus' teachings —
so now we must fight, leave our homes, our children, on Christ-
mas evening, and follow the herding of the Americans. Let us
hope our national help may pull the Allies over their difficulties.
December 31, 1917.
This base hospital is Lieutenant H's favorite job. The doc-
tors are hard workers and they have lots of pep! And we have
been getting them into something like shape — electric light-
ing, water-pipes, etc. — in fact, helping them to help themselves.
The nurses are overworked — about 40 for 300 beds and in-
sufficient quarters — this for your ears only — poor fellows —
the sick I mean. When I think of being one of many who are
suffering, it seems as though no one was better than the worst
of human sufferers. When one reflects on the seven-day week
of the hospital workers, my job is nothing like that. I need a
dressing down and I '11 get it if my brain does n't begin to act
reasonably. These days if a man has brains, he has got to use
them; and if he has n't many, he's got to use the ones he has.
290
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
In particular we have to face the fact that Germany must be
trimmed and that right properly, in order that Bobs and Teddy,
Nannan and Pink Toes, need not experience a war like this one
right away again. Very soon now this job will be accomplished.
It seems that any course that will take me into Pioneer work in
some regiment is the thing for me to do. I have a method of
procedure mapped out which will get me there by the time the
spring offensives are on.
There is no doubt that this is going to be a busy spring — in
fact, I should not be surprised if another February, like the
Verdun attack, were repeated. But if I am going to get into
the fighting Pioneer work, my entrance into a school at Ver-
sailles should not be later than three weeks from now. It
seems brutal to tell you this. I, nevertheless, am of the opinion
that the more children you have, the more you want to fight
for their protection — the more too it 's one's duty to fight for
them, although all of the sweetness and joy of innocence seems
to go out of the world with the madness of war. Yet to lie down
and be trodden on without pride or combativeness is mere
complacency, and to me this is the time! . . . But I had rather
be killed than submit to much of the ignominy, immorality, and
selfishness one sees — almost shares in — in our heathen civili-
zation of which we are so proud. Perhaps later days may see
Christianity dawn from these dark ages and a good yeast per-
meate the loaf. Oh, teach the Bible to those kids of ours. Let
the salt get into them and tell them not to hide their light under
a bushel. For the end of all is sacrifice. Why not start by
being unselfish and raise a brood who can pull together from
New York to San Francisco, helping each other to be happy!
What does not appear in these letters is that Lieu-
tenant Crocker's command of the French language, and
his experience and ability in dealing with the French gave
to his service a peculiar value. It is perhaps easier to read
between the lines that the work at Brest was a heart-
291
ALVAH CROCKER, Jr.
breaking task for all and that Crocker's share of it was
taxing his strength beyond the limits of his endurance.
Though he realized fully that he could not continue to
stand the strain of this job that must be finished at top
speed, he stuck to it until it finally broke him down com-
pletely and resulted in his death, at Brest, on June 25,
1918.
Crocker was survived by his wife, two daughters, and
two sons. He received a posthumous citation "for ex-
ceptionally meritorious and conspicuous services at Base
Section, Number 5, France." On June 8, 1921, the diplovie
of the Beaux Arts was awarded to him. A poem in his
memory, by his friend Arthur Ketchum, containing many
lines of beauty, begins with these:
No tears for you
O Very Dear, and true
To that high soul in you that would not let you rest
Contented with the half achieved, the lower best.
But stirring at the summons of the Word
Of your unseen Commander forged ahead
Unconquered,
And keeping step to rhythms all unheard
By duller ears
Followed a trail, unguessed.
O Bugles, on the last redoubt
Sing triumph out;
A new adventurer waits
At your high gates.
Amid the pennons and the flash of spears;
O Heavenly Bugles, sing
His welcoming!
But — no tears, no tears!
292
ELLIOT ADAMS CHAPIN
Class of 1918
iliLLioT Adams Chapin, as his name suggests, was of
pure New England descent. From before the Revokition
his ancestors, on both sides of his family, were born in or
near Boston. He himself was born in Somerville, Massa-
chusetts, May 10, 1895, a son of Cyrus Smith Chapin, of
the Chapin and Adams Company, a Boston commission
firm, and Alice (Bigelow) Chapin. His mother's father,
George E. Bigelow, was killed in the Civil War, at the
Battle of Fredericksburg; her grandfather. Captain John
Bigelow, was a soldier in the War of the Revolution. His
elder brother is Robert Bigelow Chapin, of the Harvard
Class of 1908.
After attending the grammar and high schools in New-
293
ELLIOT ADAMS CHAPIN
ton, Massachusetts, he went to Phillips-Andover Academy,
graduating with the Class of 1914. In "PhilHps Academy,
Andover, in the Great War" he is recorded as "still
remembered on Andover Hill as a boy of unusual personal
charm. LTnlike most of those who spend only one year
at Phillips Academy, he made a host of warm friends. He
played for some weeks on the football squad and was
elected to Phi Delta Sigma; and he was also exceptionally
popular in his class and in the school at large."
In the autumn of 1914 he entered Harvard College with
the Class of 1918. Here, in his freshman year, he played
on the Gore Hall football team, which won the inter-
dormitory championship, and in the spring of 1915, was
captain of the Gore Hall baseball team, which, also, won
the interdormitory championship. In the autumn of
1916 he was elected to membership in the Pi Eta Society,
and became active in its management. Always interested
both in his studies and in athletics, he was popular with
his classmates, and had more than an ordinarily wide
acquaintance in college.
Near the end of his junior year, in April, 1917, he en-
listed in the United States Naval Reserve Force, Coast
Patrol, a minor defect in one eye having prevented his
admission to the LT. S. Aviation Service. Feeling that in
the Coast Patrol he was doing less than that of which he
was capable, and still eager to become an aviator, he
secured, on August 24, 1917, an honorable discharge from
the U. S. Naval Reserve Force, effective upon his enlist-
ing in the British Royal Flying Corps, which he did on
August 26. After having passed a satisfactory physical
examination, he reported at Toronto, on September 6.
294
ELLIOT ADAMS CHAPIN
He received part of his ground and flying training at Long
Branch, and Deseronto, where he remained until No-
vember 15, when he was sent, with three hundred other
cadets, to Camp Hicks, Fort Worth, Texas, for further
training. There, in December, he received his commis-
sion as second Keutenant in the Royal Flying Corps.
At the end of a furlough beginning December 31, 1917,
Chapin sailed from Halifax, January 27, 1918, on the
Tunisian, in the same convoy with the Tuscania, tor-
pedoed off the Irish coast on this, her last ill-fated voyage.
When the captain of the Tunisian called for an "extra
submarine watch," Chapin volunteered and afterwards
wrote his family that "it was the most exciting three
hours he had ever spent." The Tunisian docked at Liver-
pool, February 6, and Chapin, having spent a few days
in London, was sent to Salisbury, where, after further
intensive training, he received his first lieutenancy in
April, seven months from the beginning of his training.
Early in May, 1918, he was ordered to France, and,
together with his observer, flew his plane, a large De
Haviland bomber, over the Channel and across France
to the aerodrome of the 99th Bombing Squadron, Royal
Air Force, to which he was assigned. Its station was about
six miles south of Nancy, and its duties were to harass
the enemy by bombing his lines of communication, rail-
ways, ammunition dumps, and aerodromes.
On June 27 Chapin was detailed, with others, to bomb
the railwav at Thionville, north of Metz. On the sue-
cessful accomplishment of this purpose, the formation
was attacked by a large number of Fokker scouts. Dur-
ing a desperate fight, a shot passed through the petrol
295
ELLIOT ADAMS CHAPIN
tank of Chapin's plane, causing an explosion, which sent
the plane down in flames from 1300 feet. This was about
two miles southeast of the town of Thionville and twenty-
five miles within the enemy's lines. Lieutenant Walker,
of Chapin's squadron, flying at the time only fifty feet
away, bore witness to the scene: "When he saw death
staring him in the face, I saw him turn around to his ob-
server, reach out his hand and shake hands with him."
Such a final action was characteristic of one of whom
it could also be written by a fellow-officer that "he was
one of the best: he always had a smile and a kind word
for everyone"; and, besides, that "we all loved him.
In fact he was the finest type of Christian manhood that
could possibly be found."
At the Harvard Commencement of 1919 Chapin re-
ceived the "war degree" of Bachelor of Arts as of the
Class of 1918.
296
GOODWIN WARNER
Class of 1909
ijTOODwiN Warner was the only son of William Pear-
son Warner, of the Harvard Class of 1874, a member of
the Boston brokerage firm of Parkinson and Burr, and of
Hetty (Rogers) Warner, who died in 1908. He was born
in Cambridge, Massachusetts, January 17, 1887. One of
his three younger sisters is the wife of Francis A. Harding,
secretary of the Harvard Class of 1909.
In his preparation to enter this class, as throughout his
life, Warner had to contend with the handicap of severe
chronic asthma. He went to Harvard from Noble and
Greenough's School in Boston, but had previously spent
two years at the Thacher School in California and two
years in the Maine woods. How serious his physical
297
GOODWIN WARNER
handicap was few of his closest friends realized, since his
unfailing cheerfulness and courage concealed the suffer-
ing to which he was subject. Through the necessity of
living much outdoors, he was enabled to cultivate a love
of nature, especially in the study of birds, and became an
expert in New England ornithology.
On graduating from college in 1909 Warner entered the
Boston office of Stone and Webster, but left it, by reason
of illness, in January, 1910. A trip to Bermuda in the
spring brought him to the decision recorded in the 1915
Report of his class: "No more office for me." He then
began to investigate the possibilities of orcharding in New
England, studied in the first half of 1911 at the Massa-
chusetts Agricultural College, and in August went west
for several months to look into the opportunities for apple
raising in Montana, Washington, and Oregon, with the
conclusion that the "only people who made money were
those who sold to Easterners like me." What ensued is
told in his contribution to the 1909 Decennial Class
Report:
In November the College Office offered me a chance to go
on a trip as companion to a convalescing 1912 man. Went to
Memphis, Tennessee, on December 1. Bought a 42-foot cabin
cruiser there, got two young fellows for cook and engineer, and
went down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. Picked up
another man and dog in Arkansas. Tied up to the banks where-
ever we wished and got some good hunting. Not knowing river,
had some close calls but made it O. K. Returned to Boston
in February, 1912. Spent spring looking for a farm, and in
August bought 160 acre farm in Littleton, Massachusetts.
Have been farming it hard since then, and am specializing in
apples.
298
GOODWIN WARNER
Warner was making a success of this work when the
United States entered the war. Impatient to take his
part in it, he sailed for France, and on June 2, 1917, joined
the American Field Service. It was a time at which this
organization was rendering a service of peculiar value to
the French Army, through meeting a demand for a large
number of camion drivers, whom it sent to the Reserve
Mallet, a branch of the Motor Transport service, which
is said to have carried to the front more ammunition than
the whole American Army used in the war. To the ardu-
ous and dangerous work of this service Warner was im-
mediately assigned as a member of Transport Materiel 184,
operating at Jouaignes, Aisne, not far from the Chemin
des Dames. Here he became Sous-Chef of his section, and,
after graduating in October from the French Automobile
Officers' School at Meaux, was appointed Commandant
Adjoint, r. J/. 133. At about the same time, when the
American Army was taking over the control of the Reserve
Mallet, Warner enlisted as a private, and on December
18, 1917, was commissioned second lieutenant, Quarter-
master Corps, U. S. Army. On that day he became com-
manding officer of Motor Transport Company 360, and
for the remaining months of his life, contending con-
stantly with the disability of imperfect health, pursued
his work with an energy and effectiveness which won him
highest praise. "In June, 1918," to quote from the Tenth
Anniversary Report of his Class, "after returning from
a long tour of exacting duty, during an epidemic of influ-
enza, which greatly reduced the strength of his group, his
command was again called out on convoy duty. Although
beginning himself to feel the effects of the disease, he
299
GOODWIN WARNER
remained with his command against the protests of many,
was out two nights and a day and shortly afterwards
developed a severe case of jineumonia, from which he died
at Camp Hospital No. 4 [Joinville-le-Pont] on June 29."
During his illness, and after it was too late for him to
learn the fact, he was promoted to the command of two
hundred fifty men and about a hundred camions. When
he was buried with military honors, at Suresnes, Com-
mandant Mallet, under whom he had served since coming
to France, said of him:
His fellow-officers cannot speak too highly of him as a good
and trusty friend; his men have always known him as a kind
and reliable leader. As for myself, it is my desire to acknowl-
edge before you all the deep debt of gratitude the French Army
owes to Lieutenant Warner, who came to serve our country
before his own needed him, and so he has ever since been per-
forming his military duties with such devotion and efficiency.
In the name of the Director of the French Automobile Service,
in the name of my Reserve, I wish him a last farewell, and ad-
dress the expression of our deep sympathy to his family and to
those who are mourning today an affectionate friend, a promis-
ing officer, and a perfect gentleman.
300
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
Class of 1916
In the death of this uncommonly skillful and daring
aviator at Dallas, Texas, on July 4, 1918, the American
Army lost one of the flyers from whom most might have
been expected had he lived to reach the front. "If ever
a man were ripe for overseas work," he wrote less than a
month before his death, "it is I. If I were a horse I would
paw the ground." The frientl with whom his relations
301
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
were closest during this final month of his life has de-
clared that his eagerness for the front so preyed upon him
as to increase the recklessness of his flying. Near the
end of June he said to this friend, while they were lying
awake in the heat of a Texas night, "I'm going to be
killed in the next month." In less than a week the fore-
boding, all uncharacteristic of one so filled with happiness
and hope, was realized.
This son of Frederic Percival Clement, of New York
City and Rutland, Vermont, who graduated at Harvard
with the Class of 1888, and of Maud (Morrison) Clement,
was born at Elizabeth, New Jersey, March 20, 1895. His
father's family, descended from Robert Clement, who
came from England to Salisbury, Massachusetts, in 1642,
has been conspicuously identified since 1809 with the
state of Vermont. Through both his father and his
mother he traced his ancestry to Pilgrims of the May-
floiver's company. In the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies his forebears rendered honorable service in the
Revolutionary and Civil Wars.
The friends of his earliest years noted the keenness of
his mind and the strain of unselfishness in his character
which endeared him to young and old. In those years
also he manifested a strong love of nature and all out-
door pursuits. Among them was a fondness for heights —
he was a venturesome climber — and for free spaces. It
almost seemed that he was destined to fly.
Through a part of his boyhood his family lived at
Watertown, New York, where he attended the public
schools until he entered the Morristown School, Morris-
town, New Jersey, then recently established by three of
302
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
his father's classmates and friends. In each of his three
years at Morristown he won the highest general scholar-
ship prize and more prizes for scholarship in separate
studies — Greek, Latin, French, History, and English —
than any other boy in the school. He was also a member
of the football and track teams, took an important part
in the school plays, and in many other activities of the
school. Entering Harvard with the Class of 1916, he
held a corresponding place in the undergraduate life of
his time. Throughout his course he served on important
committees of his class, of which he was secretary-
treasurer in his junior year; from the assistant manager-
ship of the freshman track team he passed to the position
of manager of the L^niversity track team; in his senior
year he was a member of the Student Council. He did
his part in the Harvard Regiment, and joined the St.
Paul's Society, the Institute of 1770, D. K. E., the Re-
publican, Morristown School, Varsity, Stylus, Signet,
Hasty Pudding, O. K., and Delphic Clubs. The friend
who has already been quoted, Lieutenant Rex P. Arthur,
did not meet him until they had both entered the avia-
tion service, but his characterization of Clement shows
clearly what he must have been in college:
I soon learned that Freddy was of a very nervous, eager
temper; extremely engaging in manner and impulsively
friendly — apparently impulsive in everything, but this was
pure appearance, as in reality all his actions were directed by
principles based on the finest character I have ever known.
This was the astonishing thing about him. He had an extra-
ordinary Puritan conscience. I say "extraordinary." I found in
college, and especially during the war, that such a conscience,
especially in a boy, was extraordinary. Freddy was the only
303
FREDERIC PERCIYAL CLEMENT, Jr.
boy I ever knew who was absolutely good and at the same time
wonderfully popular. . . . When I think of his character, I
always think of a steel lance.
In the autumn after graduating from college, Clement
entered the Harvard Law School, but, instead of living
in Cambridge, became a member of the household of
Robert H. Hallowell (Harvard, '96) at Readville, Massa-
chusetts. Of the influence he exerted there, Mr. Hallowell
wrote to Clement's father: "What a joy and satisfaction
it is to have Fred one of our household! I do not know
how we ever got along without him. But O! how you
must miss him! I have rarely seen so lovely a character;
always cheerful and happy, with the rare gift of impart-
ing his cheerfulness to others, and so straightforward and
just plain honest that you feel certain he never could do
or think a mean thing." After Clement's death the same
good friend wrote again: "You talked to me a moment
about the bringing up of boys. If I could only bring up
mine to be like Fred, I would feel that one of the greatest
missions of my life had been fulfilled. In my own mind
I had planned that Fred was the one to whom I could
point as an ideal for my boys to follow, and I had more
often thought how he would help them to avoid the pit-
falls that are invariably encountered by youth."
For such a young man as Clement the only question
of his relation to the war was that of how and when. On
April 27, 1917, he answered it thus, in a letter to his
parents :
As I wrote you a long time since — - 1 would go when the call
came. I have now gone.
304
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
I have thought it over carefully and have determined the
right thing to do was for me to apply for Plattsburg. I passed
the physical exam and the required mental tests Thursday
morning when I filed my application. Today I heard from the
War Department that I had been recommended for Plattsburg.
The notifications and "marching orders" will come any time.
. . . The camp lasts three months and it is supposed we shall
then be fit to train the first 500,000, and then . . . ?
Please write and say you are glad I have done this or that you
approve. Although I am sure you do, it would be nice to see
your letter saying so.
Don't be worried as to what might happen. It will be six
or eight months before there is a chance to cross and by that time
the war may be over.
Clement went to Plattsburg in May, and in June secured
a transfer to the aviation service. One of the friends he
made at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Ground School, where he enlisted, June 18, as a private,
first class. Aviation Section, Signal Corps, reports that
Clement gave as the reason for this transfer his feeling
that his youthful appearance would make it difficult for
him to convince the officers at Plattsburg that he was of
serious age, but that the real reason, in this friend's
opinion, was the spirit of adventure moving within him.
On July 20 he was detailed to Mineola, Long Island,
where he qualified, September 1, as reserve military
aviator. His next detail was to Kelly Field, Texas, where
on October 5 he received his commission as first lieutenant.
Aviation Section. On October 26 he was detailed to Fort
Sill, Oklahoma, as an instructor; in February, 1918, to
Camp Dick, Texas; and on April 1 to the School of Aerial
Gunner V, at Taliaferro Field, Texas. He was still at this
305
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
post when he met first with a minor accident and then
with his death.
In all these stations Clement's charm of personality
won him a multitude of friends. At the same time he
was making a reputation as an aviator in which some
anxiety on the part of his superiors was inevitably mingled
with admiration. This appears in one of Clement's own
letters from Taliaferro Field (May 12, 1918) from which
the words revealing his impatience to reach the front have
already been quoted:
I also find I have flown over 300 hours, which is quite a num-
ber. They often send one over the lines with 60. I can't seem
to think of anything but practising for overseas. Friday I was
right on my toes and went up in one of the new planes with a
man in the front seat to work the camera gun on the top plane.
I pretended I was Guynemer and in the other planes were Huns.
We dove at a plane, shot it down (merely taking a picture)
then made an Immelmann turn like this [sketch of turn] and
took the man from the rear. Did this to several planes and
ended by sideslipping into the field, which is a stunt they prac-
tise abroad in order to land in a small field. The officer in
charge of flying saw me and when I landed he "grounded" me
and confined me to the post — both until Monday — three
days. Then he did admit that the turns were very good and the
sideslipping very pretty, but that stunting was n't allowed. If
I don't practise when it does n't harm the work I shall go
batty. S. R. and I are inventing quick manoeuvres to outwit
the Hun, and we think they are pretty good stunts. Of course
it was wrong to stunt without permission, but I hope to get
permanent permission, so I can be absolutely sure of the posi-
tion of the plane with my eyes shut. There never will be a
better opportunity.
306
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
The man who flew with him on the fatal day, Sergeant
A. L. Held, of the aviation service, who siifi^ered serious
injuries in Clement's fall, and has recently written, "were
he alive today, I would not hesitate to go up with him, or
do any stunt he wanted to do with one in the plane," has
thus described also an instance of his flying alarmingly
close to camp buildings:
On one occasion he did this while up one evening about sun-
down, when he did the "falling leaf" while coming down to
land and dived right over one of the hangers, making the men
believe he would crash into a bunch of them, who all fled. He
then leveled off his plane and made a perfect landing. The
officer in charge ran out and called him for this, telling him how
risky it v/as and that they would take him oft' flying if he did
not stop stunting near the buildings. Lieutenant Clement sat
quiet and listened to it all until the officer got through, then
turned to him with a smile and said, "Say, George, was n't that
a dandy, though?" just as though he had not heard what the
officer told him, and the officer could not help himself but had
to turn away and laugh. This happened time and again until
finally they threatened to take him off flying, which would have
broken his heart.
A letter written bv Clement on June 30 mav well have
caused apprehension: "I am back on the job as gunnery
pilot and we are arranging to visit Camp Dick on the
4th to stage an aerial battle. We have a plane painted
like a Hun, and I am to fly it and drop some fake bombs
at Camp Dick and then be attacked, while attempting
to escape, by four planes with machine guns firing blank
cartridges. It should be excellent fun."
A great crowd assembled on the afternoon of July 4
at Camp Dick on the State Fair Grounds at Dallas to
307
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
enjoy the "aerial circus." The "stunts" were performed
in such a way as to win from Lieutenant Henri Le Maitre,
a French ace, the highest commendation, especially of
Clement's skill. In the letter from Sergeant Held already
quoted, it is described in technical detail, and the tragic
outcome of the day is narrated as follows:
Coming close to Camp Dick, he shut off his motor and glided
quietly up to the grandstand, then threw his motor on full power
just as he went over it, not missing the grandstand very far.
We then circled around the camp until we were up about a
thousand feet, when I let out a small parachute, which sailed
slowly down on the field and was very pretty. Shortly after
that I saw the other planes coming and I showed them to
Lieutenant Clement, who then started to gain altitude to meet
them. When we got up to them the fight started and, all being
daring fliers, we had some close calls, for they were all diving
at us and they came so fast that Lieutenant Clement could not
keep his eyes on all of them, so he shouted to me, "Keep your
eye on them, Held," which were the last words he spoke, for
just then Lieutenant Martin dived at us, which was pretty
close, and Lieutenant Clement thought it looked pretty good
so he started his "fake fall" which he had planned, by turning
into a "barrel roll," and letting it go into a tail spin, from which
he never took it out until it was too late. He enjoyed the tail
spin because he turned to me and laughed, and never did he
lose control of his plane like some people thought he did, but
had it under perfect control until we hit the ground. Misjudg-
ing his distance was the cause of the accident, and, although he
had the plane out of the spin just before we hit the ground, he
did not take it out in time, which forced him to the ground and
it was impossible to avoid it in such a short distance.
They told me he was killed instantly when I regained con-
sciousness later in the evening at St. Paul's Sanitarium. When
the train left Dallas with his body, his fellow-flyers dropped
308
FREDERIC PERCIVAL CLEMENT, Jr.
flowers on the train from planes until it was well on its way from
Dallas. I do not think that there was another man in our field
that had as many friends as he had and it gives me great pleasure
to write about him.
As commander of the fliers in the Dallas exhibition,
Clement had selected the men who were to take part in it.
In his cardcase a diagram was found after his death,
showing the positions and manoeuvres he had planned for
his fellow-fliers and himself. At the very last he was
scheduled to make the tail spin, which resulted in his death.
His devoted friend. Lieutenant Arthur, must be quoted
once again, and finally:
He was an unusually modest boy, a Harvard man every other
Harvard man should be proud of. Extremely fond of his Alma
Mater, it was almost impossible to draw from him an account
of his own achievements there, as an undergraduate. He was
completely without affectation or snobbishness, yet he believed
that only the worth-while people were worth making his inti-
mates. So he told me. But the entire Field mourned, from
the lowest private up, when he was killed. I never saw such
universal sorrow. I believe it was because Freddy's actuating,
big principle in life was to make other people happy. As a
flier, he was the ideal type — very expert and absolutely with-
out fear. But it made us hate the game and hate war, when we
lost him.
Of the deep affection in which he is remembered by a
host of others the record is both poignant and abundant.
A silver tablet awarded for his acrobatic flying at Dallas
was sent to Clement's parents. He was buried July 9 at
Rutland, Vermont.
809
DONALD FAIRFAX RAY
LL.B. 1912
UoNALD Fairfax Ray was a North Carolinian, a
graduate of the University of North Carolina and of the
Harvard Law School. At the annual meeting of the
North Carolina Bar Association at Greensboro, in that
state, in 1919, Captain Ray's law partner, N. A. Sinclair,
Esq., of Fayetteville, North Carolina, presented a me-
morial paper upon him which provides the best possible
basis for this memoir. In substance it read as follows:
Donald Fairfax Ray was born in Fayetteville, September 26,
1888. He was the only living child of Captain Neill W. Ray and
Mrs. Laura Tatz (Pearson) Ray. His father died when he was
only nine years old, and nothing could be more beautiful than
310
DONALD FAIRFAX RAY
the perfect sympathy and comradeship that existed between
him and his mother for the remainder of his life.
After attending the Fayetteville schools, he went to a well-
known school for boys at Woodberry, Virginia, where he re-
mained for two years. He then entered the University at
Chapel Hill, North Carolina, on August 12, 1905, where he was
graduated, taking the A.B. degree in June, 1909. The follow-
ing September he entered the Harvard Law School where he
took the full three years' course in law, graduating in 1912.
After leaving Harvard, he went to Europe and traveled exten-
sivety over the Continent for the greater part of the next year.
He was admitted to the bar of North Carolina at the fall
term of 1911, a year before finishing at Harvard, and upon his
return from Europe he entered upon the practice of law in
Fayetteville, where his great natural ability, his splendid equip-
ment, and his application to his work won recognition im-
mediately. From the very beginning, he rose rapidly in his
profession, and even at his early age had won for himself a
distinguished position at the bar. He became a member of the
law firm of Sinclair, Dye, and Ray in January, 1915, and with an
active practice in the Superior and Supreme Courts, developed
into a strong and successful advocate before both court and jury,
often winning the highest encomiums from the judges before
whom he appeared.
He made a profound study of the European War and its
underlying causes, and was regarded as an authority on all
questions pertaining to it. He became convinced in the begin-
ning of 1916 that America would be drawn into the war, and,
therefore, entered the Officers' Training Camp at Plattsburg,
New York, in the summer of that year. When the United
States declared war in April, 1917, he immediately arranged his
business affairs so that he might enlist, and entered the first
class in the Officers' Training Camp at Oglethorpe, Georgia,
from which he was graduated, and was commissioned, August 15,
1917, as first lieutenant of Field Artillery.
311
DONALD FAIRFAX RAY
On August 18, 1917, he was married to Miss Ann McKimmon,
of Raleigh, North Carolina, and after a few weeks' leave was
ordered to duty at Camp Jackson, South Carolina. In Decem-
ber, 1917, he was promoted to captain in the 156th Field Artil-
lery, and a few days thereafter was offered, and accepted, a
position on the staff of General William J. Snow. He remained
at Camp Jackson until the spring of 1918, when he was ordered
to Post Field, Fort Sill, Oklahoma, to take a course of six weeks'
training in aerial observation. He had all but completed this
course, lacking only six flights of finishing, when his strength
gave way under the terrific strain in the intense heat, and he
suffered an attack of something like sunstroke on returning from
a flight. From this attack he never completely rallied, and in a
few days, on July 6, 1918, he died. His devoted wife, who was
with him at both Camp Jackson and Fort Sill, was with him
during his illness and death, and brought his body home where
he was laid to rest by the side of his father in Cross Creek
Cemetery.
Thus ended a noble life crowned by a successful career.
Though his life was short, he had "lived much." His life was
full of usefulness and was an inspiration. The worthy son of a
great lawyer and soldier of the Confederacy, early in life he set
his mark high, and always lived up to it. He was a member of
the American Bar Association, and the North Carolina Bar
Association, and if his life had been spared, would beyond ques-
tion have become a great lawyer. As it was, he had prepared,
tried, briefed and argued, and participated in suits involving
not only important interests, but also grave and complicated
principles, and in such manner as to win the admiration of his
professional brethren. His training was thorough, his tastes
scholarly, his mental processes clear and logical, and his literary
style at once vigorous, informed by good taste, and remarkable
for its purity. The charm of his personality and his fine sense
of humor made him a delightful companion. His judgment was
unerring, and his advice was frequently sought by men much
312
DONALD FAIRFAX RAY
older than he on important matters of business. He was gentle
and modest, and yet he was uncompromising in his convictions.
He was an antagonist to be feared in any contest for what he
believed to be right. He took an active part in business and
political activities, and his influence for good in public affairs
is felt as a living force today.
In Cross Creek Cemetery today, beneath a granite shaft,
beautiful in the purity of its lines, which typify their lives, are
resting side by side the ashes of two men whose lives have been
a benedict on — lawyers, patriots, soldiers. Christians — father
and son. Captain Neill W. Ray and Captain Donald Fairfax
Ray.
To this tribute from a professional associate in the law
may well be added the following words in a personal letter
from Major-General William T. Snow, Chief of Field
Artillery, U.S.A., to whose staff Captain Ray was at-
tached for a short time:
I had never met him prior to the Camp Jackson days. How-
ever, he was so well recommended to me and created such a
favorable impression upon my personally observing him that
I detailed him as a member of my staff. He had a most pleas-
ant and agreeable personality, and was a consistently hard and
thorough worker in an effort to learn his new profession, the
military. I not only was strongly attached to him personally
but also had the highest regard for his ability, and I think he
would have made a most efficient officer had he lived.
313
MAXWELL OSWALD PARRY
Graduate School of Arts and Sciences 1911-12
(connected with Harvard only through taking one
course of drama study in the Graduate School for a single
year, this Yale ace with three German planes to his credit
contributes a shining name to the Harvard Roll of Honor.
Maxwell Oswald Parry was born in Indianapolis, In-
diana, December 28, 1886, a son of David McLean Parry
314
MAXWELL OSWALD PARRY
and Hessie Daisy (Maxwell) Parry. His grandfather,
Henry Parry, was a well-known engineer in Indianapolis,
president of the Parry Manufacturing Company, and in
1902, president of the National Association of Manu-
facturers. Through the Pennsylvania Welch ancestry of
his father, Maxwell Parry, as he registered himself at Har-
vard, was descended from General John Cadwalader of
the Revolutionary Army. His mother's ancestors came
from England to Cecil County, Maryland, in the seven-
teenth century. She was a descendant of George Read,
of Delaware, a signer of the Declaration of Independence.
Parry's preparation for Yale, where he graduated in
1909, was made at the Culver (Indiana) Military Academy,
the American College, Strassburg, Germany, and the
Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, Connecticut. In the "Y^ale
Obituary Record," from which this memoir is chiefly
drawn, it is recorded that "he received a second dispute
Junior and second colloquy Senior appointment, and won
the first Ten Eyck Prize at the Junior Exhibition. He
contributed to the Courant and the Record, was Fence
Orator Sophomore year, and in Senior year was elected
Class Orator and a member of the Triennial Committee.
He took part in the various plays of the Dramatic Asso-
ciation, and was president of that organization Senior
year."
All this bespoke a vivid interest in literature and the
drama. But for a time after graduating at Yale, he
devoted himself to business, first as secretarv and adver-
tising manager of the Parry Automobile Company, of In-
dianapolis, and afterwards as secretary of the Golden Hill
Estates Company. More personally he expressed himst^lf
315
MAXWELL OSWALD PARRY
through writing many articles and dramatic reviews for
the Indianapolis Neivs, and through contributions to
magazines. He also wrote a number of plays, "Boys of
Gettysburg," "The Lie Beautiful," "The Flower of
Assisi" (in memory of a classmate), "Dad," and "Stingy,"
which was produced in the year after his death at the
Punch and Judy Theatre in New York by the Stuart
Walker Players. He became a member of the Drama
League and the Little Theatre Society, and established
a connection with the Washington Square Players. At
the end of his year of study in the Harvard Graduate
School, he received the degree of M.A. at Yale.
His military career is thus summarized in the "Yale
Obituarv Record":
He entered the Air Service on August 27, 1917, and after com-
pleting a course at the Ground School at Columbus, Ohio, was
attached to the Royal Flying Corps for training. He flew at
different camps in Canada, and was then assigned to the 147th
Aero Squadron at Camp Hicks, Fort Worth, Texas. ^ He went
abroad with this unit early in 1918, and about the first of July
was ordered to the Chateau-Thierry front. About two days
after their arrival, Lieutenant Parry and five other members of
the squadron met and conquered the famous "Richthofen
Circus," and within the next week Lieutenant Parry had in all
three enemy planes to his credit. On July 8 he attacked alone
a German formation of thirteen Fokkers and was killed. He
was at first reported missing in action, and it was not until
March, 1919, that definite word of his death was received
through the War Department. He was buried by the Germans
in the Military Cemetery at ^'audeuil. The French Govern-
ment has awarded him the Croix de Guerre, with palm, and the
1 His commission was that of second lieutenant, Aviation Section,
Signal Corps.
316
MAXWELL OSWALD PARRY
American Distinguished Service Cross has also been given to
him.
The following citation, in a general order of the Army,
accompanied his award of the Croix de Guerre:
Pilote de chasse de graiid courage et d'une hahilite hors de pair.
Le 2 juillet 1918 faisant partie d'une patrouille de sept qui attaqua
douze avians ennemis, a ahattu tin de ses adversaires.
317
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
Class of 1907
VJn the day before Sergeant Dudley Gilman Tucker of the
Lafayette Flying Corps fell in aerial combat he surrendered
to a friend, who wished to go to Paris for his transfer to
the American aviation forces, his own permission, sorely
as he needed change and relaxation after nearly eight
months of continuous service at the front. "Do you
know, Harry," he said to this friend as they were smok-
318
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
ing together on the evening of July 7, 1918, "I believe I
ought to take that permission myself. Something seems
to tell me I ought." "All right," answered the friend,
"go ahead. It's yours, you know." Then they smoked
in silence, broken by Tucker's saying, "No, you take it.
\ou have a real reason for going, and 1 have only this
feeling which comes over me so strongly." Tucker's own
life was so far removed from the commonplace that this
premonition of his death strikes no incongruous note.
He was born in New York City, April 7, 1887, of New
England ancestry in which such names as those of Gov-
ernor Thomas Dudley of the Massachusetts Bay Colony
and Nathaniel Gilman of Exeter, New Hampshire, are
found. His parents, Gilman Henry Tucker and Caroline
Low (Kimball) Tucker, were lovers of books, art, and
travel. They established a Free Public Library at Ray-
mond, New Hampshire, the early home, and afterwards
the summer home, of Tucker's father, who for many years
was secretary of the American Book Company. His
mother was one of the organizers, in 1883, of what is
now called the Messiah School, Spring Valley, New
York, a home-like school for dependent children; of this
she became honorary president.
Tucker prepared for college at Dr. Louis Ray's School
in New York, and at the Hackley School, at Tarrytown,
New York. He entered Harvard in the autumn of 1903,
a good student, who learned quickly and easily, and found
no difficulty in completing the studies required for his
degree by the middle of his senior year. In college he
became a member of Kappa Gamma Chi, of his class
lacrosse team in the freshman, sophomore, and junior
319
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
years, and of the class hockey team in his senior year.
As a freshman he suffered a serious disappointment
through breaking one of his ankles while playing football.
This was his favorite sport, but, in conformity with his
father's wish, he gave it up. For his mother's gratifica-
tion he played the violin and sketched a little, and for his
own pleasure he cultivated his good voice.
Leaving Cambridge in February, 1907, Tucker made the
last of the four European trips which were a definite part
of his parents' scheme of education. These were not mere
tourist travel, but were sojourns here and there. In 1907
he stayed in Sicily and southern Italy, enjoying early
morning swims in the Ionian Sea, tramping, climbing,
tennis and all the life of the English colony in which he
found himself. On earlier trips he had visited the Tyrol,
Switzerland, Germany, England, Scotland, and Wales. His
mother recalls his coaxing her to climb Snowdon — "just
we two." As the gathering mists warned them to turn
back, he pleaded, "Only a little farther": thus they
reached the top and both were glad. She writes also:
Life at his country home at Raymond was always very full
for him, with his pony, his canoe, and his house-parties, when
he and his guests danced in the moonlight on the lawn, and
swam, and drove, and tramped over the hills. Always he had
books — best of all pleasures to him — and he was constantly
collecting them. During his months in camp in France his
companions wondered that he would burden himself with so
many books, with all the frequent changes of base; but they
enjoyed the stories which he found in them. One, Jean Marchet,
wrote: "He was always making fun for us, reading or telling
stories or making up plays. // etait un ires bon camarade."
3^0
DUDLEY GILMAN TUCKER
For the academic year, 1907-08, after leaving Cam-
bridge, Tucker attended the Columbia Law School, try-
ing to like the lawyer's profession in order to please his
father. Not succeeding in this, he entered the employ of
the American Book Company in 1909, and after five years
turned the executive training thus acquired to account
in a position which greatly interested him — that of busi-
ness manager of the Washington Square Players in New
York. The history of this organization of true devotees
of the dramatic art — a historv abundantlv written in the
public press of the two years preceding the entrance of
the United States into the war — contributes a bright
spot to the theatrical annals of New Y^ork. Tucker's part
in it all was important, and the path that led him to France
had its beginning in an enterprise directly connected with
the stage, for it was while he was in Panama, with his
friend Austen ("Billy") Parker, on their way to China
and Japan to study the Oriental theatre, that they fore-
saw their country's surelj^ joining the Allies, and set their
faces at once towards France. Of the Panama experience
each of these friends subsequently wrote. In a letter from
Tucker to a cousin are these words:
"Somewhere in France,"
June 27, 1917.
A lot of things culminated finally in Billy Parker and my-
self setting sail for Panama en route to China and Japan,
where we intended to study and write about the native theatre.
Our idea was to grab a cargo boat at Panama, but we found that
that sounded easier than it was. Most of the cargo boats were
carrying munitions for Vladivostok and would n't take a pas-
senger at any price. So, after waiting about two weeks, we
decided to occupy our time by a little exploring. Consequently
321
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
we set off into the jungle to be gone two weeks. Our trip
stretched out to six, however, and most of our friends gave us
up for dead and the militarj^ authorities sent a torpedo-boat
destroj'er down the coast looking for us. We fooled them,
though, and after a ten-day trip in a native dugout reached
Panama City, battered and weary but safe and sound.
We found to our sorrow that our boat for Japan or China was
just as far in the distance as ever, and as war with Germany
seemed certain we decided to beat it over to France and get in
the game. The decision was hastened by discovering that a
boat was leaving that night direct for Bordeaux, so we hustled
like sin, cashing checks, seeing consuls and "sich" (for our pass-
ports were for China), buying steamer passages, but in the end
we made the boat with several hours to spare. The voyage
lasted twenty-one days. We stopped at about every port on
the northern coast of South America and, in addition, at the
islands of Trinidad, Martinique, Dominica, and Guadeloupe.
After Trinidad, Billy and I were the only English-speaking
people on board, which did not tend toward making our trip
lively, but it was mighty good practice in brushing up our
French,
From another point of view the Panama experience is
recounted in a letter from Tucker's friend, Parker, written
in retrospect from 1922:
When two men have lived together, worked together, strug-
gled through jungles and both been laid flat with fever, and
flown together, they come close to knowing each other. Dudley
and I did all of those things, and I knew him as one of the most
lovable men I have ever encountered. There seemed to be no
outrageous set of circumstances through which he could not
go — and emerge grinning. There was one time I shall always
remember when I think of him. We had left the jungle and were
coming down a steep mountainside in the Darien, following a
322
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
creek bottom, wading up to our waists and slipping over huge
boulders. The water — we had been in it for five hours — was
as cold as ice and the sun was blistering all of us that was out
of water. At last, when the guides said that we would strike a
"rancho" one mile farther down, we stopped to rest and smoke.
Then one of those torrential rainstorms broke, and it was as if
a hose had been turned on us.
In the scurrying to get to shelter, the guide who was carrying
our pack stumbled and fell into the creek, drenching our dry
clothes and blankets, ruining the tobacco and most of the food.
Dudley and I sat under a ledge while the rain poured down,
contemplating the uncomfortable night ahead of us. Then,
suddenly, Dudley broke into song, — "Panama, Panama, land
of milk and honey, skies so bright and sunny. . . ." And he
put back his head and laughed. It helped us over a rough spot.
When we came out of the jungle we found ourselves on the
ranch of a German who, suspecting that we were acting for the
Intelligence Department of the Army, deceived us with false
hopes that a steamer would soon be along to take us to Panama.
From his point of view, we had landed at Puerto Pinas on our
own hook, and we would have to get away on our own hook,
I think that it was only when I intimated that a destroyer
would arrive for us if we did n't land back in Panama City soon
that he changed his mind. At least, we were on our way within
twenty-four hours.
Dudley did not want to go to war; he hated the idea, and he
had his heart set on going to China. But, after we returned to
Panama City and discovered that war was breaking, we thought
it over — thought about it, and said little. Dudley finally
decided that it was a plain case of duty; and, on eight hours'
notice, we sailed eastward instead of to the Orient. That, too,
was typical of him.
I don't know of a man among the Americans in French avia-
tion who was better, or more generally, loved than Dudley.
Everyone liked him for his cheerfulness and for his utter willing-
323
DUDLEY GILMAN TUCKER
ness to see the thing through to the end. Though none of us
knows exactly how the end came, we all know that he went down
fighting, with his teeth set and his hopes high. And to most of
us that means far more than knowing the painful details.
The two friends reached France in March, and on March
28 Tucker entered the Foreign Legion. Early in April he
transferred to the Lafayette Flying Corps. From May 22
to January 26, 1918, he was in training at the aviation
schools of Avord, Pau, and Le Plessis-Belleville. He was
breveted pilote (Caudron) and promoted corporal, Septem-
ber 30, 1917, and before going to the front, January 28,
1918, won himself the record of a skillful and courageous
pilot. He was assigned first to Escadrille Spad 74, and
transferred later to Spad 15, in the famous Groupe de
Combat 13. In June he was promoted sergeant. There
was heavy fighting to be done on those memorable sum-
mer days of 1918. It is written in "The Lafayette Flying
Corps": "All the way from Rheims to Montdidier the
enemy was strong in the air, and Spad 15 was always
in the thick of it: ground-strafing, infantry liaison, bal-
loon attacks, and constant offensive patrols."
In the letters written by Tucker from France there are
passages reflecting his life both before and after he was
ordered to the front. The letter of June 27, 1917, from
which a quotation has already been made contains these
paragraphs :
A lot has been written about Paris in war-time, and I am not
going to bore you with my particular variation on that theme.
I will, however, inflict a short word of my vicissitudes. In the
first place, although this was my fifth visit to Paris, it was the
first time that I ever really felt as if I belonged there, and the
324
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
first time that I found myself liking the city. This was partly
due, no doubt, to the utter absence of tourists and to the fact
that it was the most beautiful season, when the city is at its
loveliest with all the horsechestnuts in bloom, the fresh green
of spring everywhere; but it was more, I think, that now for the
first time I was not a transient. I looked on it as my home
where I belonged. I did no sightseeing, not even going to Notre
Dame, but I did play around a lot both with the Americans —
there are oodles of them here — ambulance men, aviators, cor-
respondents, and "sich"; and with the French, talking as much
French as possible, going to the theatre, and, when I had the
price, eating extremely well at the famous restaurants and get-
ting a good working knowledge of the best wines.
All in all, I had a perfectly bully time. Finally all the red
tape was rolled up and I signed my freedom away, becoming a
second-class soldier in the Foreign Legion, detached for Avia-
tion. It gave me a real thrill to find myself a member of that
famous Legion which I had heard of and read about so often
and which in my wildest flight of imagination I never expected
to join. Of course so far I've seen nothing of the War, and it is
even hard to realize in this little country town that there is a
war; and it will probably be quite a considerable time before I
see any more because this training takes two or three months
even in the summer when the weather is favorable.
On March 30, 1918, he wrote his niece. Miss Margaret
S. Huddleston, a daughter of J. H. Huddleston (Har-
vard, '86) :
Just a line in answer to your letter which came yesterday.
At last, I am at the front, but from all I have seen of fighting I
might just as well be at one of the schools. We are quartered
about forty kilometres back of the line, our barracks half
hidden in a small wood across the road from our hangars and
the flying field. For the first ten days I was here the barracks
were not quite ready, so we lived in billets in the town, a quaint
325
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
old town on a hillside. My room was at the top of the village
and my landlady was the quaintest little old Frenchwoman,
who slept in a cupboard-bed in her kitchen, where she cooked
over an open fire in a huge fireplace.
Besides a bedroom, all the pilotes, who were not officers, had
a mess room in the town, where we live when not working or
sleeping. It's rather like a club, for the pilotes form a separate
caste, and a corporal seems to outrank, although of course he
really does n't, an adjutant mechanic.
Now we are in barracks, where we have a big common living
and dining room and a number of small sleeping rooms, in each
of which two or three of us sleep.
Our escadrille is one of four making up a group of combat.
All of them are equipped with the latest and best type of single-
seaters, a big 200 H. P. brute; but as yet I have only driven
it over the field and practised a few stunts getting used to it,
for I have never before driven this type of machine. It has two
machine guns, both fixed and firing through the propeller, which
are aimed by aiming the whole blooming machine. I have never
fired them yet, but the other day, when I thought I might get
somewhere near the lines, my mechanic solemnly loaded them
just before I started and I felt very important indeed.
Every once in a while, as a matter of fact two or three times
a day when the weather permits, five or six of the fellows go
off on a patrol over the lines, their object being to prevent Oer-
man machines flying over our lines to get information. An
hour and a half or two hours later they come back, occasionally
with a story of a Oerman or Oermans shot down, and sometimes
with bullet holes in their planes. So far they have always all
come home, and everything is so peaceful hereabouts that it is
almost impossible to believe that they have been playing an
active part in the war. Many of them, too, have been at it
for two or three years, so it does n't seem very dangerous,
and I am beginning to have a sort of sympathy for those who
call the aviators emhusques.
326
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
I'm mighty glad you met Arthur Bluethenthal, but I'm sure
he gave you a false idea of how I look. I can't possibly fill out
a uniform the way he can. Besides you must realize that there is
no regulation uniform in the French Aviation, and, as long as
we conform to a few general rules, we can wear any doggone
thing we please. On account of the loss of my baggage, which
now seems to be definite and permanent, I have had to buy a
new uniform and some other necessaries, which is a great bur-
den on the exchequer, and I've still got a few things to get.
Your socks came at the psychological moment and saved my
life; I've worn them almost to bits, but I still have their frag-
ments and also the wristers.
More socks will always be welcome, but I have a superfluity
of knitted helmets, wristers, and mufflers. Thin sleeveless and
neckless ssveaters are also welcome, but our great and crying
need is cigarettes. Being in the French Army, we are not
allowed to buy from the American Commissary.
I've strayed a long way from "Bluey," have n't I? He and
I left the general base together on our way to the front, and
were together a few days in Paris. He is doing an entirely dif-
ferent kind of work from mine. He drives a big two-seater,
which does bombing and reconnaissance.
Oh, by the way, before I forget it, your new President, Dr.
Neilson, was my adviser, freshman year at Harvard, and one
of my best beloved professors, senior year. I fear I was a great
trial to him, and it 's only a bare chance that he will remember
me; but I wish if you get the chance that you will remind him
of me and tell him I wanted most particularly to be remembered.
The few real talks I had with him are a memory I will always
treasure. He is a man it is a great privilege to know.
To his mother he wrote, April 18, 1918:
Dearest Little Mother,
Well, D. L. M., I've been over the lines several times now
and it is n't so very terrible. You sail around in the sky and
327
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
watch other aeroplanes doing the same thing and looking like
nothing in the world so much as a big black tadpole in a pool
of water. You know you hear nothing except your own motor,
and, as there are no Bodies just now on our front and no very
definite perils, the country seems quite peaceful as observed
from a height of 4000 metres. Of course a village here and there
is noticeably knocked about or perhaps smouldering, while the
ground in places is quite heavily pock-marked with shell holes,
the effect of which against the green is as if some genii had been
sprinkling the fields with fuller's earth from a giant shaker.
The white blots of clouds like white wool which appear sud-
denly and mysteriously all over the sky are the most innocuous
looking things in the world in spite of the fact that they are
really shrapnel and shells from anti-aircraft guns; and really
they are almost as innocuous as they look, as not one plane in a
thousand do they bring down, their only purpose being simply
to keep the planes at a respectable height.
I'm mighty glad you have seen pictures of Spads. I've got
a big 200 H. P., one that runs beautifully, and on its side is
painted the emblem of our escadrille. At both ends there are
machine guns, so you see I 'm doubly protected. Tell Margaret
I 'm thinking of naming it after her, it is so husky and well able
to look out for itself. [He did name it "Margot" for her.]
By the way, did I tell you we 'd moved? Well, we have. We
are no longer quartered in the schoolhouse but have a little
house in the village all to ourselves, a kitchen, a dining- and
living-room, and three bedrooms where we sleep, snug and
comfortable as can be, three in a room. It's such comfort to
have our mess, sleeping, and living quarters together, which
was impossible before.
Well, last night, while I was lying comfortably on my cot,
after dinner, reading the February Scribners (which with the
two Green Books had just arrived), I heard voices through the
open window proceeding from the doorway of the little cafe
across the street, struggling hard in very, very bad and un-
328
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
mistakably American French. I went at once to the rescue,
and found two American soldiers trying to ask their way to a
nearby town and incidentally to get something to eat. I in-
terpreted for them and then, as the resources of the little cafe
were limited as to food, I went back to our mess to forage.
When the fellows found out what my mission was, they in-
sisted on my inviting them over, which I did. We gave them
some good fried eggs and cold meat, to say nothing of bread,
butter, and coffee with real sugar in it. They enjoyed it hugely,
as they were pretty tired and himgry. They were part of an
advance party sent ahead of their unit on bicycles to find lodg-
ings for the rest. It was mighty pleasant for me, too, to have
some one to talk United States to.
They were both regulars and among the first of our troops to
see actual French fighting. One of them was a real old soldier
of seventeen years standing, who had seen service in China and
the Philippines. The other was much younger. The French-
men were much interested in them, and kept Collins and me
(Collins is the young Englishman who is in our escadrille) busy
interpreting. Finally we set them on the right road and went
home to bed.
And again, on June 21 :
Dear L. M. :
I started a letter to you two or three days ago, but my letter
was lost before I could finish it. I cabled to you two or three
days ago, because for two or three weeks I had no chance to
write. At the beginning of the last big attack in May we moved
to be nearer the front. We got bombed out of the next place we
went to, and since then we have moved four times; in the con-
sequent hurry and confusion of moving I really have not had
a chance to w rite. Harry Forster,^ whom I know you remember,
is now a member of the same escadrille, and, though I expect
1 Henry Forster (Harvard, '11), brother of Frederick Allen Forster,
'10 (see Vol. n, pp. 138-1-10).
329
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
him to leave every day for American Naval Aviation, while he
stays here he is great company for me, because I have been long
without another American to talk to.
I 've done quite a bit of flying over the lines lately, but have
had practically no fights. One time my lieutenant and I at-
tacked five Bodies, but we almost immediately turned and ran,
sending our machines down in a steep glide, zigzagging to escape
the bullets of our pursuers. I could see the tracer bullets going
by my companion's machine, and when we finally shook them
off, we had dived full motor for nearly two thousand metres of
height, and immediately we turned and climbed to continue
our patrol. On landing one hour later, we found that the lieu-
tenant's machine had ten or twelve bullet holes in it, while I
got off scot-free.
Now we are in a little town about thirty kilometres from the
place we originally moved from, but still within reaching dis-
tance of the cathedral town I wrote you about. I was there
this morning, as it was mauvais temps, and I managed to get a
few cigarettes from the Smith Girls' canteen. I tell them about
Margaret, but they are all too old to know her — but it gets
me cigarettes.
My permission has been refused, because all permissions to
the States are forbidden for the present; but I have been as-
sured that as soon as these permissions are renewed, I will get
one. I don't know whether to hold out for a permission home
or try to transfer to the United States forces. What do you
advise? I do so want to get home if only for a short time. But
I am confused by a morbid sense that I would not pass the
physical examination. I am not in good shape, not that I am
sick, but I am not well. My group is a fairly typical French
one, and incidentally contains some of the best chasse pilotes
of France. I shall hold out in the French Army at least until I
hear from you. I will be largely guided by your letter.
The life, at present, I like very much, but I am handicapped
in that because of my hopes for a permission home. I do not
330
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
dare ask a permission here in France, and it is now eight months
and more since I have had one.
At present we are quartered in a large village in the midst
of a heavilj' rolling country which reminds me very much of
New England. Nearly all the houses here have large windows
with rows of geraniums inside. It is the prettiest French vil-
lage I think that I have ever seen. . . .
It 's bed time now, and it 's early work tomorrow. Your sys-
tem of first-class registered mail with the cigarettes works to
perfection; I don't think I 've lost a package — keep it up. The
packages sent by my friends seem to have hard luck.
Lots of love to all, D. L. M., and especially to you.
How much Tucker was sacrificing in forfeiting his 'per-
mission on July 7 to his friend, in ignoring his own need
of change — for he had never wholly thrown off the effects
of jungle malaria contracted in Central America — and in
stifling his strong premonition of disaster, this letter clearly
suggests. On the next morning, July 8, he went on his
regular patrol over the lines. This ended in an unequal
combat in the vicinity of Soissons and Chateau-Thierry
with fifteen German monoplanes against five single-seated
Spads. The other four, manned by Frenchmen, returned
in safety to their base, but Tucker never came back and
was reported missing.
All along the Chateau-Thierry front the Germans were
preparing for their great retreat, or trying to prevent it.
Skirmishes were frequent, reports were made carelessly,
the wounded were cared for as well as possible, but facili-
ties were indifferent.
On this great battle field Tucker fell, in a level, sunny
grain field beside the Longpont-Chaudun road. Pieces of
331
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
an aeroplane were found there even two years later. The
Germans reported to Berlin his fall, wounds, and death
while unconscious. Their record is complete — the type
of plane, Tucker's name, and New York address — but
though it tells of his removal to a hospital in a little parish
church at Checrise and his burial in the adjoining church-
yard, there is stronger evidence that his body was found
on the battle field at Vierzy. In spite of unremitting
search by the Red Cross, these facts were not ascertained
until the Berlin records were examined in August, 1920,
and Tucker's body was identified in the following month.
It now rests in the care of his home country in the LTnited
States Military Cemetery at Seringes-et-Nesle, near Fere-
en-Tardenois, with friends and countrymen.
Two long summers spent in searching for traces of his
fate and the place of his burial confirmed his mother's be-
lief that it is the spirit only that counts; and in the sum-
mer of 1921 she placed a bronze tablet, commemorative
of her son's devotion to right and liberty, on a beautiful
spot given her by the owner, the Marquis Guy de Lou-
bersac, a French aviation officer, on the height of Violaine-
Longpont, overlooking the field where he fell and the
whole region over which he had often flown, filled with
the pure joy of flight. This spot can be reached by taxi
from the railroad station atVillers-Cotterets, or by a mile
climb up the hill from the station at Longpont. It is on
the farm of M. Leon Maurice, maire of Violaine-Longpont,
Aisne.
At the end of the service diary which Tucker, like his
comrades, was required to keep, his commanding officer
wrote :
332
DUDLEY OILMAN TUCKER
Le Sergent Tucker n'est pas rentre.
Secteur 25, 10 juillet 1918.
A mon brave pilote Tucker pour touie Vestime que je lui ai portee
et pour toutes les satisfactions inoubliables quil ma donnees durant
son court sejour a mon escadrille a toujours donne le plus bel
exemple d'energie et de devouement.
V^ AouT 1918
Le Capitaine Commandant
Escadrille Spad 15
Chevillion
In the summer of 1922 Tucker's family received notice
that the Medaille Militaire had been posthumously awarded
to him, in the following terms:
Citoyen americain venu s'engager dans la Legion Etrangere
pour servir sous les plis du drapeau franqais. Affecte pour la
suite dans une escadrille de chasse s'est revele comme un pilote
plein de hravoure et de sang-froid. Tombe glorieusement pour la
France au cours d'un combat aerien au dessus la foret Villers-
Cotterets le 8 juillet 1918. Croix de guerre.
333
AVILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
Class of 1913
X HE exploit in which Wilham Vernon Booth, Jr., met his
death has been described in the history of the Lafayette
Flying Corps as "certainly one of the finest examples of
cold daring the war has produced." The record of Booth's
life shows it to have been a natural climax of all that had
gone before.
He was born at Chicago, October 8, 1889, a son of Wil-
liam Vernon Booth, once president of the Booth Fisheries
Company, and Helen (Lester) Booth. While he was in
college his family moved from Chicago to New York, but
nearly all his preparation for college was made at South-
borough, Massachusetts, where he attended the Fay
School before entering the first form of St. Mark's in 1903.
334
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
There, according to "St. Mark's School in the War against
Germany," he "took a distinguished part in athletics,
playing for two years on the football, hockey, and base-
ball teams, and being made captain of the baseball team
in his sixth form year. He was a good scholar and was
appointed a monitor." Still more significant is the follow-
ing statement from the same source; "At school, Vernon
Booth's physical build could not account for his efficiency
in athletics and apparent immunity from injury. Usually
it was he who at a decisive point in a contest, and often a
discouraging point, applied that extra ounce of fight
which neither he nor his companions knew existed in the
team, and which won victory or staved off defeat. The
spirit, stronger than the body and stronger than pain, was
beyond all estimate and check; the ordinary measures of
morale and courage could not explain it, for the greater
the need, the more surely he met it. And in the class-
room, shy, quiet, and observant, with shining eyes, he
made and maintained high rank without the self-compla-
cency which so often attends it, assimilating as he learned."
Coming to Harvard in the autumn of 1909 and graduat-
ing with his class in 1913, he continued his interest in
athletics as a member of the freshman baseball and hockey
teams, and soon won himself the nickname of "The
Battler." Later he became manager and captain of the
Varsity golf team. He was also a member of the 1913
finance committee in his sophomore year, and joined the
Institute of 1770, D.K.E., Polo, Kalumet, Hasty Pudding,
and A.D. Clubs.
Booth's course at Harvard was followed by professional
study at the New York Law School. Upon his graduation
335
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
there he entered the law office of Piatt and Field in New
York, where he was at work when the United States made
its declaration of war. Booth at once volunteered for
service in the Army, but, because he was under weight
and height, failed of acceptance. Determined upon some
form of military service, he then sought the American
representative of the Lafayette Flying Corps, for which he
was tested at the Newport News field, with the result that
he was promptly ordered to prepare for sailing overseas.
On May 19, 1917, he sailed from New York, and on June 3
enlisted, at Paris, in the Lafayette Flying Corps. With
this organization he remained throughout his career,
although offered a commission in the event of transferring
to the American Expeditionary Forces.
Booth received his training in aviation at the schools of
Avord, Pau, and G. D. E. (Plessis-Belleville) . It began
June 19, 1917, and lasted until January 8, 1918, when he
was ordered to join Escadrille Spad 96 at the front, and
with this he served from January 10 until he received his
fatal injuries on June 15. On October 16 he was breveted
pilote (Caudron), and was promoted corporal, October 17,
sergeant June 13. His service at the front was continuous,
except for a leave, during which, on April 27, he was married
in Paris to Miss Ethel Forgan of Chicago, who was work-
ing in Y. M. C. A. canteens. On May 14 he returned to
his escadrille.
A few of his letters to his parents contain passages illus-
trating his life as an aviator.
336
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
Pau, November 26, 1917.
Dear Mother:
Tomorrow will be Thanksgiving day and also my last day
at any school, if it is half way decent, for tomorrow morning I
do the acrobatics and then will be through, for they have cut
out the last two classes and we will get that training for the first
two months with the escadrille. It is the new system and I think
it should be much better. The acrobatics consist of vrilles — a
spinning nose dive with the motor out ; renversements — a method
of turning by pointing the machine up, flipping it over on the
back and then pulling back so that you come back in exactly
the same line in which you came; vertical virages — another way
of turning by snapping the machine around 180 degree corners;
and wing slips — a way of losing altitude very quickly and very
hard to follow, by reducing the motor and turning the machine
on its side so there is no supporting surface. They say the sen-
sations are rather unpleasant at first until you get used to them
and are hard to do correctly, but easy enough to try and get out
of. When we get our planes at the escadrille we have to practise
them until we can do them perfectly — here we only learn to go
through the motions necessary and get somewhat used to them.
So I shall be glad when it is dinner time tomorrow.
The American colony in Pau are going to give all the American
pilots a big T. dinner. The flying here has been great fun,
bully small, fast machines that are well looked after, but the
weather has been very cloudy. Today I finished val de grou'pe
in 110 H. P. 15 m. Nieuport. W^ent up the river right over the
promenade at 300 metres as the clouds were low as far as the base
of the mountains, then saw a rift and went up through it and
saw the peaks of the mountains for the first time since I have
been here. At 1500 metres it was a beautiful warm sunny day,
with a mass of soft white clouds below, through which now and
then I could see the ground and close by were the mountains
sticking up through the clouds. There was not a movement in
the air so I just sat there and took it all in. I throttled the motor
337
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
down so it would n't climb, let go the stick and watched the
clouds change their formations. I lost the machines I was flying
with in the clouds and mists below and, as I could n't see any
other machine up there, felt absolutely alone in the world. I
could judge my approximate position by the mountains, sun,
and an occasional glimpse of the river, so did not worry about
getting lost. However, it got lonesome after an hour, so came
down and began to dodge the clouds again as I had to stay up
two hours and a quarter to finish up.
A couple of days ago we had great sport diving at horses, cows,
etc., in the fields down the river. We cut the motors and then
piqued down at one of them, trying to keep the crossed front
strut wires on the animal. This served instead of the sight
which we get later. It was quite hard to do as it was very windy
and bumpy, so I was thrown around and had to keep correcting
continually. When we got within ten or fifteen feet we flattened
out, put on the motor and went on our way jumping a hedge,
house, or row of trees at the end of the field. When we tired
of that we got down about ten feet over the river and tried to
follow its winding course. Many times we could n't do it as the
turns were too sharp, so had to pull up fast so as to clear the
trees on the banks. That was when you realized the speed, as
the trees were a green streak on each side going by well over a
100 miles an hour.
I get forty-eight hoiu-s permission in Paris, then to Plessis-
Belleville to wait to be assigned — two to three weeks probably,
and then two months' practice before going on regular patrol
work.
As this will probably reach you about Christmas, I wish you
all a very Merry Christmas and wish that I could be there.
Hope you are all well, I am fine,
Much love,
Vernon.
338
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
February 1, 1918.
Dear Mother:
The weather has eased up and the past week has been like
spring. As a consequence we had patrols over the lines every
day, and a few days ago had the good fortune to bring down a
Boche machine. It was only the second time, very far within
the German lines, so was all the easier. We were flying in for-
mation, the Lieutenant ahead as Chef de Groupe, Ferguson and
myself just behind on his right and left respectively, and another
behind us, when, as we approached the end of our sector, we
saw the Boche plane about 2000 metres below us. It was a
large bi-plane, probably a Rumpler, regulating artillery. The
Chef signaled to go after it, so down we went, weaving in and
out trying to get into a good position to dive. \Mien he was
about 200 metres over it, he dove and opened fire shortly after-
ward. I was about 150 metres behind, so dove immediately.
I got in position, which happened before he pulled up. After
we got out of the way, I opened up and pulled out of the dive
just above him — the Boche. W^e then looked around to see
what had happened — but we could n't have hit him very seri-
ously, as he was flying all right. The other two stayed above us
to protect us from any stray Boche who might have come unex-
pectedly on the scene. We worked around again for position
and repeated, this time with better luck for on the way down I
saw the tracer bullets going into the fusilage, and when I was
quite close he fell over into a vrille. A moment after we saw
him crash into a wood. I doubt whether or not it will be
counted officially as at the time he fell he was eight kilometres
within the lines and only eight hundred metres high so that the
French observers probably did not see it.
March U, 1918.
Dear Father:
Yesterday was quite a big day with a review of the whole
Groupe de Combat by General Petain, Commander-in-Chief of
the French Armies in France, with numerous other "big bugs."
339
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
He looked us over and said that Ferguson and I looked like
Frenchmen and that we could all stay with them as long as we
liked, so now all the talk about compulsory transfers should be
stopped — we shall stay at least until fall. I had not done any
flying here since I flew out from Paris until yesterday morning,
as my machine would not run. We finally got it going, and I
went up to try it out. It seemed all right, so I finished with a
vrille. When I came out I found some of the wires were jump-
ing around like a skipping rope and others simply waving like
wet towels in the wind.
June 2, 1918.
Dear Mother:
We came down here, as I last wrote you that we would, and
and today we are moving again. In fact I have already taken
one machine down and am back for my own which is having a
new motor put in and will not be ready for an hour. The old
one was a corker, but it had so much work they would not let
me fly it any more for fear it would give up the ghost some day
over the lines. But the last couple of days I have been using
a new man's machine, who had never been over the lines, and
although only 180 H. P. it went very well. We have been very
busy with this new drive and have had a lot of shooting up the
troops, which is the best sport of all. The cavalry make the
biggest fuss and make rather sporting targets when they dash
across the fields, while a herd of cows are no fun, they just stand,
look up and wonder what goes on. A couple of days ago we
made that mistake as they were in an orchard and we could not
see them very well. Yesterday I had a little show all my own,
when, during a regular patrol, all the others had left on account
of some kind of motor trouble. As I had half an hour's essence
left, I decided to straff the Huns on my own account, so went
down looking for them. The lines were not known exactly, as
the Huns had advanced considerably during the day. I looked
over three columns before I finally found a Boche outfit. It
happened to be an ammunition train, so I came down and gave
340
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
them all I had, I saw some horses and several Huns fall over —
the rest running up the road or into the ditches on either side.
I was only a few metres above, so could see it all and was quite
pleased with the result. . . . The advance is slowing up somewhat,
and I hope it will be stopped altogether in a couple of days.
Jnne 17, 1918.
Dear Father:
A few days ago we moved again and from the present look of
things I think we shall probably stay for some time as we can
work on two fronts equally well from here and they will be
the busy ones when things start up again. There is one peculiar
thing about it though and that is, I can look up any time and
see about where is working and yet I cannot go there. . . .
We were out on a low patrol and I saw a Hun observation plane
coming up the lines and went down the lines to have a whack
at him. I was just getting around to get into position to get
him good and at the same time keep out of his fire as much as
possible, when my motor stopped. We were not very high at
the time, but I had some wind at my back so figured for an open
spot in the woods, the only one in sight but well within the lines
I thought. It happened the Huns had advanced a couple of
kilometres on that section since we had left, so the lines on my
map were wrong — and when I was only one hundred metres
up, I saw their front line trenches in front of me. I had been
fooling with the menets on the way down and just then, as luck
would have it, the motor gave a few extra coughs which enabled
me to lengthen my pique and get into our lines. Just in front
were nothing but large shell holes and trees, neither of which
looked very inviting. A few more kicks carried me over them
with a little space and I finally landed on the side of a hill between
some trees, just in front of the second line trenches. It did n't
take me long to climb out, taking such instruments as I could
grab off quickly and beat it for cover. I finally wandered back to
division headquarters and was sent back to rail-head by auto.
That night the Huns advanced further, taking the ground
341
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
where the machine remained, but they did not get it, for I left
orders to burn it up in case of a further retreat. The lucky
thing about it, I had to go to Paris in order to reach the esca-
drille — so had an afternoon and evening with before re-
turning.
These letters afford no indication of Booth's actual
achievements as a combatant in the war, nor is it possible
to suggest them more fully than by saying that he co-
operated in engagements at Amiens, Montdidier, Chemin
des Dames, Compiegne, and Foret de Villers-Cotterets, and
that he was officially credited with the destruction of two
enemy airplanes. It was in a fight between seven French
and eighteen German planes that this "Battler" fell on
June 25, with injuries that resulted in his death on July 10
in the Scottish Women's Hospital at Asnieres-sur-Oise after
he had undergone the amputation of one of his legs. The
operation was performed in the hope of stopping the spread
of the poison with which it was believed that he had been
infected by an explosive bullet fired in the action. His
wife was with him when he died.
The circumstances of his last engagement are best
described in a paragraph taken from "The Lafayette
Flying Corps":
On June 25, above the fighting to the south of Soissons,
Booth was engaged in bitter combat with a swarm of Fokkers.
Hemmed in, outnumbered and maneuvering desperately, always
on the offensive. Booth's machine was suddenly set on fire by
an incendiary bullet, and at the same instant an explosive ball
shattered his right leg, inflicting a terrible wound. Enveloped
in flames and in an agony of pain, he still kept his head, and
after a straight plunge of 6000 feet succeeded in putting out
342
WILLIAM VERNON BOOTH, Jr.
the fire. But by now the motor had stopped for good, forcing
him to land near Longpont, by misfortune at a point exactly
between the lines, forty yards from the Germans — thirty from
the French. The Germans promptly turned rifles, machine
guns, and even 37 mm. cannon on the Spad, but in spite of a
storm of lead and bursting shell, severely burned and dragging
a mangled leg. Booth painfully extricated himself from his
plane, deliberately set fire to what remained of it, and crawled to
the French lines. In the hospital, on July 4, this splendid act
of courage was rewarded with the Medaille Militaire, and on
July 10 Booth died from the effects of his wounds. He was the
best-loved of comrades and a soldier who upheld with honor the
finest traditions of his country.
The terms in which the Medaille Militaire was conferred
upon Booth as he lay in the hospital were these :
Pilote d'un splendide courage. Au cours d'tm combat confre
quatre avians ennemis a ete grievement blesse, son appareil ay ant
pris feu en Vair, a pu grace a sa presence d'esprit et malgre de
fortes brulures eteindre Vincendie et atterrir normalement entre les
lignes a quarante metres des tranchees ennemies. A incendie son
appareil et regagne les positions franqaises malgre un feu violent
des canons et des mitrailleuses.
Les nominations ci-dessus comportent V attribution de la Croix
de Guerre avec palme.
Le General Commandant en Chef
Petain.
In addition to this the Order of the Legion of Honor
was awarded to him on July 27, 1918.
343
CLAUDIUS RALPH FARNSWORTH
Class of 1917
Olaudius Ralph Farnsworth was born in Provi'
dence, Rhode Island, March 25, 1895. His father, John
Prescott Farnsworth, of the Harvard Class of 1881, a
descendant of Matthias Farnsworth, an early settler of
Groton, Massachusetts, was a prominent manufacturer
and man of affairs in Providence, a trustee of the Provi-
dence Public Library, and at one time president of the
Providence Chamber of Commerce. His grandfather,
Claudius Buchanan Farnsworth, was a graduate of Har-
vard, in the Class of 1841. His mother was Margaret
Cochrane (Barbour) Farnsworth.
Ralph Farnsworth, one of the three sons of John Pres-
cott Farnsworth, had most of his preparation for college
344
CLAUDIUS RALPH FARNSWORTH
at the Moses Brown School in Providence. For the next
to the last of his years at school he attended Phillips-
Exeter Academy. Entering Harvard from the Moses
Brown School in the autumn of 1913, he acquitted himself
creditably as a member of the Class of 1917, with which
he graduated. But for defective eyesight he would have
gratified a natural liking for military life by trying to
enter West Point. As it was, he came to Harvard with
the intention of preparing himself for the medical profes-
sion. In his junior year he won a Harvard College Scholar-
ship. He took an active interest in football and rowing,
but was not one of the athletes of his class. He belonged
to the Pi Eta Society, and was a member of the "show
committee " in his senior year. He also joined the Harvard
Regiment.
His military interest expressed itself, moreover, by his
attending the Plattsburg camp in the summer of 1916,
and enlisting, March 30, 1917, in Battery A, First Massa-
chusetts Field Artillery. With this organization, which
was federahzed July 25, 1917, and designated Battery A,
101st Field Artillery, 26th Division, he served continu-
ously until his death. Promoted private, first class, in
August, he sailed for France with his regiment in Septem-
ber, and was promoted corporal in November.
His experiences under arms were those of his regiment,
with engagements in the Chemin des Dames and La Reine
sectors, and finally at Chateau-Thierry. A passage from
one of his letters, dated April 7, 1918, speaks clearly for
the spirit in which his service was rendered:
It is well that you have come to realize at home that we are
in for a long struggle, but the longer I am here, the more sacred
345
CLAUDIUS RALPH FARNSWORTH
our cause becomes. I am not trying to be heroic or impressive
when I say that we are the crusaders of our day. We are any-
thing but heroic or impressive in appearance, but beneath our
often unkempt appearance, our undignified slides for cover, and
our very human fear of shot and shell, I know there is the spirit
of our crusading ancestors, well camouflaged, it is true, but
there nevertheless.
In a later letter (June 14, 1918) he wrote:
From various points of the line come reports of various Yan-
kee activities, and I know what my own comrades are doing
here. On the whole I think we can honestly feel that we are
beginning to stand up to the oar in our share, and that we are
becoming more deserving of the term "Ally." Along with a deep
hatred of the Boche has come the conviction that we are in to a
finish, that an existence without victory is intolerable.
In the Triennial Report of the Class of 1917, the circum-
stances of Farnsworth's death in action at Montreuil-aux-
Leons, near Chateau-Thierry, July 12, 1918, are related
as follows:
It seems that his gun had been fired more than any other, and
a comrade quotes his own words, "Its life was about ended."
At 3 A.M. on the twelfth came an order to put down a barrage.
Overheated by the rapid fire, his piece made a shell explode pre-
maturely. The gun corporal had already been killed, and Farns-
worth, although acting as sergeant and chief of section, was
loading and sighting the gun. He had one other man only with
him who pulled the lanyard. Ralph was leaning over to pick up
a shell to reload when the explosion came. It was at the edge of
the woods near Montreuil, and his body was buried at Bezu-le-
gueri.
By a later interment the body of Ralph Farnsworth was
placed in the Swan Point Cemetery at Providence, where
his father and mother are buried.
346
CLAUDIUS RALPH FARNSWORTH
"Ralph," wrote his classmate J. W. D. Seymour in the
1917 Triennial Report, "had been a straightforward man's
man always. He gave the best that was in him to any
cause he felt to be right, and he never hesitated to give
himself wholly and without reservations. He is missed
by many who called him friend."
347
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
Class of 1919
i T is hardlv more necessary to inform the readers of this
book that Theodore Roosevelt, the father of Quentin
Roosevelt, was a member of the Harvard Class of 1880
than that he was President of the United States. His
youngest child, Quentin, was born to him and his wife,
Edith Kermit (Carow) Roosevelt, at Washington, No-
vember 19, 1897, while he was serving as Assistant Secre-
tary of the Navy in the McKinley administration. Within
six months came the Spanish War, with its effects upon
the fortunes of Theodore Roosevelt, and consequently on
those of his family, symbolized in the fact that the title of
"Colonel," won at that time, remained to the end of his
life the name by which he was most commonly known.
348
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
The background of that life, at Washington and else-
where, has been for more than twenty years so familiar an
object of interest and knowledge to Americans in general
that it would be superfluous here to do more than suggest
it, especially since the publication of Theodore Roose-
velt's "Letters to his Children" — a book in which the
youngest of the family, "Blessed Quenty-Quee," inevi-
tably appears with a peculiar distinctness: the conditions
of Quentin Roosevelt's boyhood call for no detailed recital.
Yet the newspapers at the time of his death brought
forth certain illustrations of his boyish characteristics
which may be repeated here. One of them was in the
form of a statement by the principal of the Peter Force
Public School in Washington, which — besides the Epis-
copal High School at Alexandria, Virginia — Quentin
Roosevelt attended before leaving home to enter Groton
School. "Quentin's leading characteristic," said this
teacher, "was determination to succeed in anything.
Alwavs at the forefront in everv movement in the school,
he was the liveliest kind of boy, showing even in those
early years the qualities which made his father what he is.
He was uncommonly bright intellectually, and was always
at the head of any athletic movement in the school." His
love of nature and of animals, warmly encouraged by his
father, accounted for his menagerie of living pets at the
White House. It was a pleasant thing to read about in the
news of Washington. So was the story of the pony which
he felt that his brother Archie, sick with diphtheria, must
see if he was to recover. Smuggling the little beast into
the White House elevator he succeeded — if the legend
be true — in conveying him to an upper bedroom and
349
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
exhibiting him to his dehghted brother. There was even
a rumor that his father might have thwarted the plan, but
did not. However that may be, a hkeable flavor is found
in another story of Quentin Roosevelt, asked in his turn
at school to state the occupation of his father, and declar-
ing, "My father's just it." An indication of his boyish
quality, with a prophetic suggestion of the future, ap-
pears, besides, in a letter he wrote from Europe, in the
summer holiday before his twelfth birthday, telling a
Washington schoolmate of the delight he found in watch-
ing the flight of aeroplanes at Rheims.
From the day schools in and near Washington, the boy
proceeded to Groton School, at which he graduated in
1915. His contributions to the school paper, the Grolon-
ian, revealed a marked quality of imagination, upon which
the war in Europe, begun before he entered college, took
a strong hold. An injury to his back, received during one
of his summer camping and hunting trips in the West,
handicapped his participation in athletic sports. One of
the consequences may have been a fuller development in
other directions. So, at least, the following passage from
a newspaper "tribute" to Quentin Roosevelt, written im-
mediately after his death by the Rev. Endicott Peabody,
Rector of Groton School, leads one to infer:
He was an eager and intelligent reader, familiar with many
branches of literature. When he was consigned to bed, as he
used to be occasionally on account of his back, he would appear
at the infirmary with an armful of books — standard works, or
the writings of the real authors of the day. The power of con-
centration, a faculty possessed by many members of the Roose-
velt family — which accounts for their enthusiasm and ability
350
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
to do things — was highly developed in Quentin. He took much
interest in printing, and spent many hours in the school press,
acquiring a skill which would have qualified him without
further preparation for the position of a journeyman printer.
It was characteristic of him that he was often found sitting on
a stool by the side of a clattering monotype machine which
was noisily stamping out its letters, and as he gave himself up
completely to the enjoyment of Browning or some other favorite
author, he had an ear open to the slightest variation of the com-
plex apparatus.
Socially he was a most agreeable companion for persons of all
ages, for he had been much with his parents as their comrade as
well as with his contemporaries. His sense of humor was keen
and unfailing, and always of a kindly nature. He was mentally
alert, sympathetic, interested in many persons and all kinds of
things. He was a friend who did not forget.
Entering Harvard in the autumn of 1915, Quentin
Roosevelt remained in college only until the United States
entered the war. In his freshman year he was manager of
the Gore Hall and 1919 interclass football teams. He
served on his class entertainment committee and in the
Harvard Regiment. In the summer of 1916 he attended
the Officers' Training Camp at Plattsburg. He belonged
to the Institute of 1770, D. K. E., Hasty Pudding, and
Groton School Clubs. It was not a time in college when
even the most studious w^ere at their best in scholarship.
At a freshman midyear examination in mathematics,
Quentin Roosevelt, suffering from grippe, was more than
commonly below par; but the verses which he wrote at
the end of his "blue book" seemed to his examiner, Pro-
fessor E. V. Huntington, worth sending to Colonel Roose-
velt as an indication of something besides mathematical
351
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
ability in his son. They will serve a kindred purpose
here.
Ode to a Math A Exam
"If it be not fair to me,
What care I how fair it be?"
I
How can I work when my brain is whirling?
What can I do if I 've got the grippe?
Why make a bluff at a knowledge that 's lacking?
What is the use if I don't give a rip?
II
Cosine and tangent, cotangent, abscissa,
Dance like dry leaves through my sneeze-shattered head,
Square root of a- plus hr plus A:'
Gibber and grin in the questions I 've read.
Ill
Self-centered circles and polar coordinates.
Triangles twisted and octagons wild,
Loci whose weirdness defies all description,
Mountains of zeros all carefully piled.
IV
Still I plod on in a dull desperation.
Head aching dismally, ready to sip
Goblets of strychnine or morphine or vitriol —
How can I work when I 've got the grippe?
On the entrance of the United States into the war,
Quentin Roosevelt sought and obtained his father's per-
mission to enlist in the aviation service, for which, both
in temperament and through the possession of a strong
mechanical sense, he seemed peculiarly qualified. The
injury to his back, which might well have hindered other
352
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
military employment, was not prohibitive here. In one
of the letters contained in "Quentin Roosevelt: A Sketch
with Letters,"^ edited by Kermit Roosevelt, from which
other passages will be quoted in this memoir, his light-
hearted dealing with the processes of enlistment is char-
acteristically described.
I trotted down to the War Department, to start in on a
complicated game of catch as catch can with the Aviation au-
thorities. Their policy is one of mystery. You ask for an ap-
plication whereupon a little colored "pusson" takes you in tow
through some twenty miles of stairs to an equally little white
man who gives you a blank. The rest of your day is spent in
taking that little blank for visits to various dens in the building.
Next comes your physical exam, over which a hypochondriac
with the darkest views of his fellow-men presides. After two
hours of a twentieth-century refinement of the inquisition you
are pronounced fit, and travel on again for your mental test.
The presiding deity there is a gentleman who feels like David
— or was it Isaiah — that all men are liars. And the questions:
"What is the average age of the Dodo?" the correct answer
should be 37. "What is the average sex?" but to go on.
It really did take me two days to get by all the red tape, and
apparently I was miraculously lucky at that.
His enlistment as private, first class. Aviation Section,
Signal Corps, was achieved April '27, 1917. He was im-
mediately detailed to Mineola, Long Island, and commis-
sioned first lieutenant. On July 23, in company with his
Groton and Harvard classmate, Hamilton Coolidge, he
sailed for France in the first detachment of American
aviators ordered overseas. His external experiences in
France may be summarized in a list of his successive as-
1 Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 1921.
353
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
signments : In August he was attached to the air service
headquarters in Paris; in October was detailed as in-
structor to the 3d Aviation Instruction Centre at Issoudun;
on February 28, 1918, to the Aerial Gunnery School at
Cazaux; in March he returned to Issoudun Instruction
Centre; in June was detailed to the 1st Army Acceptance
Park at Orly; and on June 15 was assigned to the 95th
Pursuit Squadron, 1st Pursuit Group. While attached to
this squadron he was killed in action near Chamery, July
14, 1918, having cooperated in engagements in the Toul
and Marne-Aisne sectors, with official credit for the de-
struction of one enemy airplane.
In all his experience preceding the final month at the
front he acquitted himself admirably as an instructor and
a supply officer, and won the affection and respect both
of pupils and of fellow-officers. His energy and resource
in the securing of supplies were quite exceptional. A
characteristic story was told in the summer of Quentin
Roosevelt's death by President Crawford of Allegheny Col-
lege, recently returned from Y. M. C. A. training work
overseas. He reported a meeting in the preceding winter
with the young officer, to whom he said, "Lieutenant, there
are large numbers of Americans who are very proud of the
way the four sons of Theodore Roosevelt are acquitting
themselves in this war"; and added, "I shall never forget
how his face lighted up as he made reply, 'Well, you know
it's rather up to us to practise what Father preaches.'"
Throughout this practice there was, in addition to vigorous
action, an abundance of thought and feeling, of which a
full record is to be found in the "Sketch with Letters," ^
1 From the same volume many details of this memoir are also taken.
354
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
already mentioned. From this volume a few significant
passages are assembled in the following pages. They rep-
resent indeed both action and the sentiment of high-
spirited youth — action the more remarkable because
accomplished in the face of a physical handicap which led
Quentin Roosevelt to write in one of his first letters from
France, disappointed in the hope of going early to the
front: "I wanted to get started flying, and have it over
with. I know my back would n't last very long."
On August 22 he wrote of two motor-cycle smashups in
which he was hurt on each of two successive days. But
there was soon another story to tell:
August 26, 1917.
Today I was at Bourges and had my lunch at a queer little
tavern, black with age, that lies in the corner of an old castle
wall. Over the door-way hangs a faded sign, Aux trois raisins
noirs, and up by the wall runs a little, crooked alley, half cob-
blestone, half steps, that is called Rue Cassecou. I know you
would have loved it, — and Madame who stands at your table,
red-cheeked and with the white cap that the peasant women
wear, while Monsieur le proprietaire cooks the omelet. I took
an hour off from my work, for there were places that cried for
exploration, — narrow winding streets that might lead any-
where, and finally did bring me to the cathedral. It has one
square tower, but all around the walls are buttressed, like those
in Notre Dame. It is surrounded by a cluster of crooked little
streets, whose houses seem as grey and ancient as the gargoyles
on the tower. I went in, for there was no service. Once inside
it seemed like another world. There was quiet so deep that I
could hear the patter of the sacristan's feet as he came toward
me, and the whispers of two old peasant women who knelt at
a little shrine in the wall. It is like Chartres, for as you come in
you see only the sombre gloom of the vaulted arches, and then
as you pass on you look back on the glory of a great rose window.
355
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
There was one window — a virgin with a veil — before whom
candles were lit, — that was so lovely that I burnt before her a
candle.
I shall be very glad to get any books that you can send me.
At the moment my library consists of the collected works of
Gaston Leblanc, father of Arsene Lupin, and the "Pageant of
English Poetry," and "The Wind in the Willows." . . .
I wonder if I ever told you my pet prayer, — almost the only
one that I care for. It was written, I think, by Bishop Potter,
"O Lord, protect us all the day long of our troublous life in
earth, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and
the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work
is done. Then in Thy mercy grant us a safe lodging and peace
at the last, through Jesus Christ, our Lord." I 've always loved
it, and now, when life is hard, and all that is dearest to me is
far away, it is a comfort to think that sometime all this will be
past, and that we will have peace.
December 8, 1917.
These little fast machines are delightful. You feel so at
home in them, for there is just room in the cockpit for you and
your controls, and not an inch more. And then they're so
quick to act. . . .
It's frightfully cold, now, though. Even in my teddy-bear,
— that 's what they call those aviator suits, — I freeze pretty
generally, if I try any ceiling work. If it's freezing down be-
low it is some cold up about fifteen thousand. Aviation has
considerably altered my views on religion. I don't see how the
angels stand it. Do you remember that delightful grey mufiler
you made me? It's very soft, — either Angora or camel's hair,
I think, — and is now doing yeoman duty bridging the gap
between the top of my suit and the bottom of my helmet. I
think it is bringing me luck, too, for I am flying much better,
now that I wear it every day. As a matter of fact I am wearing
just about everything movable 'round my room now, and expect
to for the next four months or so.
356
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
I had an exciting time two weeks ago with a plane. I was
taking off, and had just got my wheels clear when a bit of mud
got thrown against the propeller and broke it. One of the pieces
went through the gasoline tank and before the wheels were
really down on the ground again, or before I even had a chance
to cut the switch, the whole thing was in flames. I made a wild
snatch at my safety belt, got it undone, and slid out of the plane
on the doublequick time. It can't have taken me more than
thirty seconds, and yet when I got out, my boots and pant legs
were on fire.
[Written while recovering from a mild attach of pneumonia]
December 16.
I have just started to really convalesce, and am being allowed
to read and write again. I was really quite sick for a while, a
good deal sicker than I thought I was, and so, as soon as my
temperature began to go down again I thought I was good for
letter writing and reading. The medico sat on that scheme,
though, so today is my first day of doing anything at all for
ten days. I am to be kept in bed here until I am well enough
to make the trip safely, and then am to be sent up for a two
weeks' sick leave, when I shall see Eleanor in Paris, and get
all fixed up again.
We have now got a real man-size organization over here now,
and it has struck our school down here, for we now have my old
Mineola K. O. He has made the most tremendous difference
to the place. . . .
The Colonel, when he put me in command, told me I was to
try and get things straightened out as far as possible, and then
make a detailed report on the state of things. I started in and
found I was up against a most tremendous job. The cadets
had no organization at all. They were being used for guard duty
and nothing else, and there is nothing more demoralizing for a
lot of men than doing guard under frightful conditions, and
nothing else. I started in, and after two days sent in a report
as long as a presidential message, asking that more enlisted men
357
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
be detailed to relieve the guard, that arrangements be made to
ship off cadets to preliminary schools if possible, and that if
there were any vacancies for non-flying commissions in the air
service, they be issued to cadets on a competitive examination.
Then I got together the officers, and picked out six assistants
who I knew would work and were good fellows, and arranged
that the seven of us be excused from regular flying formations.
Thus we could work at the cadets and tuck in our flying when-
ever we had a spare moment. Then we divided them up into
organizations of two hundred and fifty and started to lick them
into some sort of military shape. Outside of the non-fliers, I
now have one hundred and fifty fliers, and twenty navy fliers —
known unofficially as the flying fish — and we have got them
working out fairly well, though it's a pretty unsatisfactory sit-
uation at best. I know if I were a cadet I should feel justified in
kicking if, after being enlisted because I had a college educa-
tion and was recommended by all sorts of people as good avia-
tion material, I was used as a guard for an aviation camp with
the prospect of flying in four or five months.
The doctor has come in and ordered me to lie down again,
so I must stop. I have been a perfect pig about not writing
more, and from now on you will see a vast change in the news
from me, for I have loved your letters. The trouble is that
writing home makes me get gloomy, for then you start looking
at the war as a whole, — an impossible system. I have given
it up entirely, and take it day by day. The only really satis-
factory thing is that flying is wonderful fun on these new ma-
chines. I wish you could see them. We can do stunts that you
would think were impossible after watching a Curtis wallow
along through the air.
January 29, 1918.
... I have been having a continual fight with the doctors,
though, and incidentally with myself. The trouble is that I have
been getting in so much flying lately that I am tired out most of
the time. The net result was that I collected another cough, as
358
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
my lung was n't quite fixed up. I had been feeling rather poorly,
but I was pretty anxious to get my flying done, so I was keep-
ing on. Then today I dropped over to the main camp to see
Ham, and there was caught by Major Goldthwaite. The first
thing he decided, after looking me over, was that I had measles,
because I had a cold, and a temp, and there was a suspicious
rash on me. I finally persuaded him out of that, and then he
turned on the other tack, and said that my vitality was low,
and that I was very likely to get something if I did n't look out,
and ended with orders for me to go on light duty, and do no
work for a week. I don't know what I am going to do about it,
for I certainly can't quit flying for a week right now, when I am
finishing up. In the first place, they are getting ready to send
a couple of squadrons up within a reasonably short time, and I
am going to have a hard enough time anyway trying to get my-
self a place in one of them. I think I shall wait and see how
things turn out.
In the meantime, I am going to bed at the noble hour of
eight-thirty, which means that there won't be very much more
to this letter.
February 21, 1918.
I'm at the moment indulging in the not over-satisfactory
feeling of knowing that I 've done what I ought to have done,
even though it was n't what was pleasantest. I was given the
chance of being permanently — that is for the next three
months — stationed at Paris, to deliver planes to the various
depots. You see, the heart of the aeroplane industry is Paris,
— for all the big factories are there. Consequently, we have
American testers, who receive the planes, test them, and then
accept or reject them. If they are accepted they have to be
flown to their various destinations. I was to be in charge of
that particular branch, and to arrange for the deliveries. It
would be wonderful fun, of course, for I'd be flying all over
France — out to the front as well as to the various schools be-
hind the lines. There would be a certain amount of good ex-
359
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
perience in it, too, but the trouble is, it 's a job for a man back
from the front for a rest, — or one who 's had a bad crash and
lost his nerve. It 's no occupation for me who have never been
to the front. And so I turned it down, and I've been thinking,
rather regretfully, of the good times I might have had in Paris.
I would like to get a job testing, though, for I think that is
valuable work. I don't think there's much chance of that. A
tester is never an emhusqiie, for, after all, you can't call a man
a slacker whose job is testing planes to see if they're strong
enough, and well built enough to stand service. Besides, a
tester gets wonderful flying experience, for he flies all kinds of
machines, and in case he gets a machine that is what the French
call nialregle, he has a slight sample of what flying at the front
may be like with part of your controlling surfaces shot away.
So I am still in my old work here, and having a rather amus-
ing time, for I am not exactly sure what I am. I feel a little
like the song, "Am I the Governor-General, or a hobo?" — for
no one, least of all headquarters, can make out just what my
status is. I am hanging on like grim death, until I can get sent
out to the front. Once I have had my three weeks or so with
the French or English, I will have some sort of a foundation
to base on, but till then, I '11 probably remain an official mystery.
In the meantime, I am getting in all kinds of flying, and I
think accomplishing a certain amount in the line of training the
new men at the same time. Yesterday I took a group of ten off
for a reconnaissance. They all had their maps, and the object
was to make them keep formation and at the same time make
out from the map where they are going. It 's good practice for
them, but by way of being dull for me, — so I thought I 'd liven
it up by doing a couple of virages d la verticale and generally
fooling round the sky. I did that for about five minutes —
always keeping the general direction I was going, but more or
less wagging my tail en route — and then looked around for the
formation, which should have been following above in two nice
"V's" of five. Instead, they were scattered all over the land-
360
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
scape like flies. 1 stopped doing everything at that, and flew
in a straight line, so that gradually they formed up again. Then
when I got back I asked what was the matter, and found that
they had tried to follow my movements. Of course, it's ab-
solutely impossible, in formation, to do anything like that,
— and I told them so. I 've also been polishing up my acrobacy
a good bit lately, so that I can do it without thinking.
February 23, 1918.
Not much news this time, except one rather sad bit. Al
Sturtevant has been shot down.^ I heard it from Bob Lovett.
He was patrolling, doing seaplane work, when he had the bad
luck to run into a squadron of Boche planes, out on some sort
of reconnaissance. Of course he did n't have a chance. They
shot him down — so thoroughly that even the plane was totally
destroyed and sank. Poor Al, — he 's the first of that bunch
whom we knew and played round with that is gone. Still, —
there's no better way, — if one has got to die. It solves things
so easily, for you've nothing to worry about, and even the
people whom you leave have the great comfort of knowing how
you died. It's really very fine, the way he went, fighting hope-
lessly, against enormous odds, — and then thirty seconds of
horror and it 's all over, — for they say that on the average it 's
all over in that length of time, after a plane 's been hit.
March 30, 1918.
I had a most unpleasant time of it just at the end, for I was
really scared, and it's the only time I have been, in the air.
We were just about five miles from here, and I was getting ready
to nose her down and come through the clouds to land when for
some unknown reason I began to feel faint and dizzj'. I 'm free
to confess that I was scared, good and scared. However there
was nothing to do except trust to luck, so I nosed her down, and
went for the landing. As luck would have it, I happened to
have just hit it rightly, and I came in on that glide with only a
1 See Vol. II, p. 256.
361
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
couple of S's to slow me up. I was mighty glad, though, when
I got on to good, solid ground again.
May i, 1918.
It 's been perfect ages since I last wrote to you, and I 've got
a variety of reasons for not having done so. The one real one
is that I had one hand laid up in an accident and aside from
that have n't been feeling decently for quite a while now. It
started a little while after I got back from Cazaux. I had been
feeling all-overish for quite a while, and then one day when I was
off on a voyage my motor blew up on me, and I had to come
down for a forced landing. As luck would have it, some fool
people got in my way, just as I was coming in to land, and as
between hitting them or crashing, I took the latter, and hung
myself up nicely in some trees. I reduced the plane to kindling
wood, and got out of it myself whole but rather battered.
Among other odds and ends, I had a bad wrist which reduced
my epistolary efficiency. That in itself was n't anything par-
ticular, but it was part of a vague general uncomfortableness.
Ham and I talked things over, and found that we both were
about in the same fix. It boiled down to this, that we both were
heartily sick of the work we were doing, and that we wanted
to get out to the front, or anywhere away from this mud-ridden
hole. I had got to the point where even the sight of a flying
student filled me with loathing. It is rather hard to teach men
to fly, and send them on through the school, when you can see
no future in sight for them. I knew that the men we were send-
ing through would just be sent to a gunnery school, and then
have to hang around goodness only knows how long until there
were any planes for them to fly. And knowing that it was
awfully hard to get up any enthusiasm for a job which I hated
anyway. The long and the short of it was that Ham and I both
decided, independent of the other, that we were stale. So I
went to the major and asked him if he could not arrange to
have Ham take a leave. He said that, on account of the offen-
sive, leaves were being discontinued, but that he would allow
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QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
Ham to take a plane on a cross-country to Paris. So he sent
for Ham and told him this, whereupon Ham told him some long
song and dance about me, resulting in our both being sent off
with our planes for six days' rest in Paris. Don't you think
that was pretty nice of him? It made the most tremendous
difference to me, for now 1 am back here again, and though I
don't like the work, yet I do see how useless it is to kick about
it and not do it, when there is no chance to go out to the front
anyway. The major has promised us anyway that as soon
as any bunch goes out to the front he will see that our names are
on the list.
May 4, 1918.
There are some nice things about aviation, really. It seems
to be the one part of the war in which brother Boche has the
instincts of a sportsman and a gentleman. Of course the serv-
ice is as full of wild stories as a boarding-school, and this one
I'm not sure about, — though I think it's so. After Guynemer
was brought down a Boche flew over his squadron's airdrome
and dropped a letter saying that his funeral would be on a cer-
tain date and that four Frenchmen would be given safe conduct
to land on the German field and attend it. They accepted it,
and flew over, landed on the German field, were received by the
Germans, attended the funeral, and then went back. It's
rather a fine thing if true, and I do know for certain that they
know where Guynemer's grave is, so it may be true. Then just
shortly ago. Baron von Richthofen, the German ace, was
brought down by the English. They buried him with full
military honors, — three French aces and three English aces
for his pall-bearers. It must have been most impressive, the
French and English soldiers standing to attention as they low-
ered him into his grave while the English chaplain read the
burial service over him. All those are the little things that will
make up the traditions of the service after the war's over. And
it is a nice thing to know that the things that you are to some
extent a part of will be the traditions of the service. That and
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QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
the certainty that there will be plenty of war left even when I
get up there, helps to make Issoudun a little more bearable.
June 8, 1918.
I've had so much happening to me, though, in the last ten
days, that I have not had time to think even, which is just as
well. Ham and I had almost begun to think we were perman-
ently stuck in Issoudun when, with no warning, we were or-
dered up to Orly, which is just outside of Paris. No one knew
anything about the orders, and Ham and I felt sure that it
meant our first step out to the front. Once the orders came,
though, we only had twelve hours' time to settle everything up
and leave. You can imagine how we hurried, with all the
good-byes to be said, and packing, and paying bills. I thought
we never would get away, but finally it was through, and we
got in the truck and started to leave for the main camp to get
our clearance papers. Then they did one of the nicest things
I've ever had happen. Our truck driver, instead of going out
the regular way, took us down the lines of hangars and as we
went past all the mechanics were lined up in front and cheered
us good-bye. As we passed the last hangar one of the sergeants
yelled after us, "Let us know if you're captured, and we'll come
after you." So I left with a big lump in my throat, for it's nice
to know that your men have liked you.
When Quentin Roosevelt and Hamilton Coolidge
reached Headquarters of the First Pursuit Group, in the
Toul sector, they hoped for assignments to the same
squadron; but the two existing vacancies were respec-
tively in the 95th and the 94th Squadron, and Roosevelt
was assigned to the first of these, Coolidge to the second.
Captain "Eddie"' Rickenbacker, commanding officer of
the 94th, says in his book, "Fighting the Flying Circus," ^
1 Published by Frederick A. Stokes Co. 1919.
364
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
that "Squadron 95 contained much the same quahty of
material as my own squadron," and goes on to write of
the new recruit to the 95th:
Quentin Roosevelt was one of the newly assigned pilots in
95. Both the enlisted men and his fellow-pilots found that
Quent relied upon his own attainments rather than upon the
reputation of his celebrated father; and it is safe to say that
Quent Roosevelt was easily the most popular man in his
Squadron. To indicate Quentin's love for square dealing and
fairness, I may divulge a little secret that were Quentin still
living might not be told.
His commanding officer, moved perhaps by the fact that
Quentin was the son of Theodore Roosevelt, made him a Flight
Commander before he had ever made a flight over the lines.
Quentin appreciated the fact that his inexperienced leadership
might jeopardize the lives of the men following him. He ac-
cordingly declined the honor. But his superiors directed him
to obey orders and to take the office that had been assigned to
him. A trio of pilots, all of whom had more experience in war
flying than Quentin had so far received, were placed under his
command. And an order was posted directing Lieutenant
Roosevelt's Flight to go on its first patrol the following morning.
Quentin called his pilots to one side.
"Look here, you fellows, which one of you has had the most
flying over the lines? You, Curtis?"
Curtis shook his head, and replied:
"Buckley, or Buford, — both of them have seen more of this
game than I have."
Quentin looked them all over and made up his mind before
he spoke.
"Well, any one of you knows more about it than I do! To-
morrow morning you, Buckley, are to be Flight Commander in
my place. As soon as we leave the ground, you take the lead.
I will drop into your place. We will try out each man in turn.
365
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
They may be able to make me Flight Commander in name, but
the best pilot in my group is going to lead it in fact."
Until the day he died a gallant soldier's death, Quentin
Roosevelt continued to fly under the leadership of one of his
pilots. He himself had never led a flight.
At a later point in the same book, Captain Rickenbacker
comes back to Quentin Roosevelt:
As President Roosevelt's son he had rather a difficult task to
fit himself in with the democratic style of living which is neces-
sary in the intimate life of an aviation camp. Every one who
met him for the first time expected him to have the airs and
superciliousness of a spoiled boy. This notion was quickly lost
after the first glimpse one had of Quentin. Gay, hearty and
absolutely square in everything he said or did, Quentin Roose-
velt was one of the most popular fellows in the group. We loved
him purely for his own natural self.
He was reckless to such a degree that his commanding officers
had to caution him repeatedly about the senselessness of his
lack of caution. His bravery was so notorious that we all knew
he would either achieve some great spectacular success or be
killed in the attempt. Even the pilots in his own Flight would
beg him to conserve himself and wait for a fair opportunity for
a victory. But Quentin would merely laugh away all serious
advice. His very next flight over enemy lines would involve
him in a fresh predicament from which pure luck on more than
a few occasions extricated him.
The exploit which Captain Rickenbacker proceeds to
describe after this passage is the subject of one of Lieu-
tenant Roosevelt's own letters :
July 11, 1918.
I got my first real excitement on the front, for I think I got
a Boche. The Operations Officer is trying for confirmation on it
now. I was out on high patrol with the rest of my squadron
366
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
when we got broken up, due to a mistake in formation. I
dropped into a turn of a vrille — these planes have so little sur-
face that at five thousand you can't do much with them. When
I got straightened out I could n't spot my crowd anywhere, so,
as I had only been up an hour, I decided to fool around a little
before going home, as I was just over the lines. I turned and
circled for five minutes or so, and then suddenly — the way
planes do come into focus in the air — I saw three planes in for-
mation. At first I thought they were Boche, but as they paid
no attention to me I finally decided to chase them, thinking
they were part of my crowd, so I started after them full speed.
I thought at the time it was a little strange, with the wind
blowing the way it was, that they should be going almost
straight into Germany, but I had plenty of gas so I kept on.
They had been going absolutely straight and I was nearly in
formation when the leader did a turn, and I saw to my horror
that they had white tails with black crosses on them. Still I
was so near by them that I thought I might pull up a little and
take a crack at them. I had altitude on them, and what was
more they had n't seen me, so I pulled up, put my sights on the
end man, and let go. I saw my tracers going all around him,
but for some reason he never even turned, until all of a sudden
his tail came up and he went down in a vrille. I wanted to
follow him but the other two had started around after me, so
I had to cut and run. However, I could half watch him look-
ing back, and he was still spinning when he hit the clouds three
thousand metres below. Of course he may have just been
scared, but I think he must have been hit or he would have
come out before he struck the clouds. Three thousand metres
is an awfully long spin.
I had a long chase of it for they followed me all the way back
to our side of the lines, but our speed was about equal so I got
away. The trouble is that it was about twenty kilometres
inside their lines and, I am afraid, too far to get confirmation.^
1 After Quentin Roosevelt's death this victory was verified by the
French and duly credited.
367
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
It was only three days after the writing of this letter
that Quentin Roosevelt met his death, on the anniversary
of the Fall of the Bastille. He had devoted the evening
before this French festival to preparing some of his com-
rades to participate, with American ragtime and banjos,
much appreciated by the French, in an entertainment
planned for the observance of July 14. In the morning
of that day he set forth on the patrol from which he never
returned. The story of his death is told in a letter written
to the father of Lieutenant Edward Buford, Jr., by that
fellow-officer of the 95th Squadron, who accompanied
Roosevelt on the fatal patrol, and, for a time, was himself
reported missing:
You asked me if I knew Quentin Roosevelt. Yes, I knew
him very well indeed, and had been associated with him ever
since I came to France, and he was one of the finest and most
courageous boys I ever knew. I was in the fight when he was
shot down and saw the whole thing.
Four of us were out on an early patrol and we had just crossed
the lines looking for Boche observation machines, when we ran
into seven Fokker Chasse planes. They had the altitude and
the advantage of the sun on us. It was very cloudy and there
was a strong wind blowing us farther across the lines all the
time. The leader of our formation turned and tried to get back
out, but they attacked before we reached the lines, and in a
few seconds had completely broken up our formation and the
fight developed in a general free-for-all. I tried to keep an eye
on all of our fellows but we were hopelessly separated and out-
numbered nearly two to one. About a half a mile away I saw
one of our planes with three Boche on him, and he seemed to
be having a pretty hard time with them, so I shook the two I
was maneuvering with and tried to get over to him, but before
I could reach them, one machine turned over on its back and
368
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
plunged down out of control. I realized it was too late to be of
any assistance and as none of our other machines were in sight,
I made for a bank of clouds to try and gain altitude on the Huns,
and when I came back out, they had reformed, but there were
only six of them, so I believe we must have gotten one,
I waited around about ten minutes to see if I could pick up
any of our fellows, but thej^ had disappeared, so I came on home,
dodging from one cloud to another for fear of running into an-
other Boche formation. Of course, at the time of the fight I
did not know who the pilot was I had seen go down, but as
Quentin did not come back, it must have been him. His loss
was one of the severest blows we have ever had in the Squadron,
but he certainly died fighting, for any one of us could have got-
ten away as soon as the scrap started with the clouds as they
were that morning. I have tried several times to write to
Colonel Roosevelt, but it is practically impossible for me to
write a letter of condolence, but if I am lucky enough to get
back to the States, I expect to go to see him.
A German communique, intercepted by American wire-
less two days after Quentin Roosevelt's death, gave the
enemy version of the story:
On July fourteen seven of our chasing planes were attacked
by a superior number of American planes north of Dormans.
After a stubborn fight, one of the pilots — Lieutenant Roose-
velt, — who had shown conspicuous bravery during the fight
by attacking again and again without regard to danger, was
shot in the head by his more experienced opponent and fell at
Chamery.
The tradition of chivalry between opposing aviators was
confirmed by the German burial of Quentin Roosevelt,
witnessed, on July 15, by Captain James E. Gee, of the
110th Infantry, who had been captured and was on his
way to the rear. Thus he wrote of what he saw:
369
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
In a hollow square about the open grave were assembled ap-
proximately one thousand German soldiers, standing stiffly in
regular lines. They were dressed in field gray uniforms, wore
steel helmets, and carried rifles. Officers stood at attention
before the ranks. Near the grave was the smashed plane, and
beside it was a small group of officers, one of whom was speak-
ing to the men.
I did not pass close enough to hear what he was saying; we
were prisoners and did not have the privilege of lingering, even
for such an occasion as this. At the time I did not know who
was being buried, but the guards informed me later. The fun-
eral certainly was elaborate. I was told afterward by Germans
that they paid Lieutenant Roosevelt such honor not only be-
cause he was a gallant aviator, who died fighting bravely
against odds, but because he was the son of Colonel Roosevelt,
whom they esteemed as one of the greatest Americans.
When Chamery, about ten kilometres north of the
Marne, was retaken by the Allies on July 18, American
soldiers found a grave marked by a wooden cross inscribed :
Lieutenant Roosevelt
Buried by the Germans
The broken propeller blades and bent wheels of his plane,
the shattered remains of which lay near by, also marked
the grave. A cross erected by the engineer regiment that
had occupied Chamery bore the words:
Here rests on the field of honor
Quentin Roosevelt
Air Service, U. S. A.
Killed in action, July 1918
370
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
Still another inscription, placed on an oaken enclosure
reared by the French, read :
Lieutenant
QuENTiN Roosevelt
Escadrille 95
Tombe glorieusement
En combat aerien
Le 14 juillet 1918
Pour le droit
et la Liberie
It is a circumstance to be recorded that the German
fighting pilot, Sergeant Greper, who brought Quentin
Roosevelt to earth with two shots through the head, sur-
vived the war but was killed in an accident while delivering
German airplanes to the American forces under the terms
of the Armistice.
From friends like Hamilton Coolidge, from a multitude
of others, came private and public expressions of the
grievous sense of loss that followed the death of Quentin
Roosevelt, and of admiration for the spirit in which his
father and mother, who stood before the country as the
national embodiment of bereaved parents, met and ac-
cepted their sacrifice. The youth who gave his life and
they who survive him illustrated, alike and notably, the
words: "To whom much is given, from him shall much
be required."
Apart from all personal considerations, the death of
Quentin Roosevelt produced an extraordinary public, even
international, effect. This is clearly revealed in a letter
to Colonel Roosevelt, from a clergyman of Northampton,
Pennsylvania:
371
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
My brother Lieutenant Frederick M. Stoudt served abroad
during the war in the Motor Transport Corps, and was sta-
tioned most of the time at Verneil, France, at the Reconstruc-
tion Park 772, where he had charge of a department in the Sheet
Metal and Welding Shop. Towards the end of the war he had
upwards of two hundred German prisoners working in his de-
partment. He tells of a young German officer, quite intelligent,
who delighted in discussing the war, and who would ask many
questions about America and our entering into the war.
This young officer told my brother the following in substance,
concerning the effect upon the Germans at the falling of your
son Quentin. That when he fell the fact was heralded through-
out the German army, and throughout the Central powers.
That photos of his grave and his wrecked plane were published
and exhibited profusely far and wide. That the German au-
thorities believed it to be good propaganda, with which to
hearten both the soldiers and the people at home. But that it
had the opposite effect and produced as far as they were con-
cerned a negative effect or result. That no sooner had Quentin
fallen but that it was whispered from ear to ear, from trench
to trench. That in it one could see how in free America every-
body was fighting. That though America was in the war only
for a short time, the son of an American President, engaged in
one of the most dangerous lines of service, was lying back of
the German lines, while their country had been at war three
years and that neither the Kaiser, nor any of his sons were ever
so much as scratched. That it gave the soldiers a vision of the
democracy of America, and helped to deepen the feeling that
they, the common soldiers, were only cannon fodder for the
Kaiser. That it made real to them the difference between au-
tocracy and democracy, of which they had heard so much. That
this feeling spread like wildfire, not only throughout the army,
but also among the people at home. That those elements in
Germany that were opposed to the war seized upon it and en-
larged the suggestion. This young ofiicer declared that in the
37^2
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT
judgment of many this was the largest single factor in the break-
ing of the morale of the German Army.
With all that is suggested by this remarkable statement
Quentin Roosevelt's contribution to the war must be
measured.
373
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
Law School 1916-17
J. HE name of George Waite Goodwin is found on the Roll
of Honor of three ancient New England institutions of
learning — Phillips Academy, Andover, Yale, and Har-
vard. In all of these it finds a fitting place, for through
his father he traced descent from the earliest settlers of
Connecticut and through his mother from two Mayflower
Pilgrims. He was born at Glens Falls, New York, July 31,
1895. His father, for many years a practising lawyer in
Albany, was Scott DuMont Goodwin (Yale, '69); his
mother, Sarah Coffin (Waite) Goodwin. He studied at
Andover only a year before entering Yale, but in that year,
1911-12, won honors in all his subjects. At Yale, where
he graduated in 1916, he received third division honors in
374
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
his freshman year, a dissertation appointment in his junior
year, and a first dispute senior appointment. As a junior
he was a member of the University Orchestra.
Between graduating from Yale and entering the Har-
vard Law School, he attended the 1916 camp at Platts-
burg, where he qualified as a marksman. At the Law
School he pursued his studies in the manner to be ex-
pected from one with his school and college record, and
established warm personal relations with fellow-students.
When the time for war service came, he chose the part of
going abroad at once and enlisting for the ambulance work
of the American Field Service. This he joined June 25,
1917, and was immediately assigned to Section 69, oper-
ating in the neighborhood of Verdun. In evacuating
wounded to the large central hospitals at Bar-le-Duc, in
August, at other places through September and a large
part of October, the section rendered important service,
in which Goodwin played his full part. One letter to his
father illustrates the nature of this work.
September 8, 1917.
Since last I wrote you we have moved up to Verdun and are
camped in a big hospital, where we expect to be for an uncertain
length of time as we are attached to no army division as yet and
are merely reserves.
We moved out of our little village at four in the morning and
wandered around most of the day before we arrived here. We
had a little time before supper to get fixed up, and then right
after that, five of our cars were sent out to get some blesses. We
traveled along a road screened by painted cloths, and then,
exactly on the dot of the hour at which we had heard that the
attack would begin, we could see, through the cloths, hundreds
of little spurts of flame off at quite a distance. It was like a
375
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
circus of which we could only see enough to whet our curiosity.
We crossed a river, or canal — hard to tell which around here
— and then went along the road under the rows of poplar trees,
which one invariably finds near roads and canals. On our right
was a very high embankment with dug-outs, and at last we
came to a tent — our destination — a receiving station for the
wounded. The first four cars took out all they had and we were
left to wait for new arrivals. We climbed the embankment
and watched the firing on the whole battlefield — smoke, star-
shells, red lights and thousands of little points of light from the
guns, from far off on the left to as far as one could see on the
right. The noise was not so loud as I had expected, because we
were a number of kilometres away. Our noisiest member was
a battery of soixante-quinze, just out of sight around the corner,
which went off every now and then with a sharp crack. At
last we scrambled down the steep sandy bank and sat on the
edge of the river near the car, to watch the sun set and keep an
eye out for incoming blesses. About half a dozen shells screamed
past us and exploded at some distance. It became very dark,
and we finally got our poilus to carry back to one of the numer-
ous hospitals in and around the city.
After considerable searching around in the dark we found it —
not far from our cantonment, a wonderful old Catholic Seminary
— with all our cars drawn up in the court, going out one by one,
shifting the blesses further back to larger and better equipped
hospitals. A "Ford" section was bringing them in from the
front and we sat in the courtyard until it became very chilly —
watching them unload. Inside, by the light of a few candles
and dim lights, was a rather interesting scene: a square, tiled
room with a low ceiling, and a bench running around all four
sides. For some reason, a stove in the middle of the room was
burning away, though the air was stifling with smoke, bad air,
and ether. At a table in the corner several ofiicers were filling
out the cards with which each wounded soldier is tagged. | In
another corner were stacks of bandages and bottles, and the
376
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
benches were filled with brancardiers and sleepy American ani-
bulanciers. The wounded were carried in on the brancards and
placed on the floor. Some idea was gained of their condition,
and they were rated accordingly and assigned to various hos-
pitals. Some of them were in pretty terrible condition, but very
few were reserved as being absolutely immovable. All were
given injections for tetanus.
Perhaps the most interesting person there was the black-
robed priest — with rank of Captain in the French Army, wear-
ing a Croix de Guerre, probably richly deserved, who knelt
beside each man and muttered a few words of prayer or comfort.
All night long he sat there, always wakeful for any occasion
when he might be needed — the rest of us trying to snatch some
sleep in any convenient position or attitude. We waited all
night and carried a couple of blesses a short distance when our
turn came. From now on we will have twenty-four hour shifts
— the first ten cars one day and the other ten the next. I don't
imagine it will be particularly thrilling with the present ar-
rangement.
Goodwin's connection with Section 69 lasted until Octo-
ber 24. At about this time the section disbanded, and
many of its members enlisted in the United States Army.
Goodwin had always felt the appeal of aviation, and on
November 5 enlisted for training in that branch of service.
On May 15, 1918, after instruction at Tours, Saint-
Maixent, Gondrecourt, and Chateauroux, he received his
commission as second lieutenant. One of his comrades in
training wrote of him after his death :
I need not tell you how popular he was with us. He could n't
help but be, and he was easily that one of us who was best liked
by the French officers and instructors at the school. Nobody
was more eager to complete his training and get to the front as a
377
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
chasse-pilote. No one of us was doing quite so well in his work
here as "Goody." In fact, he was so apt in flying that his
vioniteurs released him after only four hours in the air. He
promised to be the first to get through.
His own view of the object of all this training was ex-
pressed in an entry in his diary as early as December 11,
1917: "It is quite fixed now in my mind that if ever I get
to the front I will go up against the Germans — no matter
how many there be." Six months later, after he had re-
ceived his commission, he had occasion to write, June 10,
1918, to the widow of a young Yale friend killed in action
only ten days after his marriage. A portion of the letter
speaks clearly for Goodwin's feeling about the war:
You must be very, very proud to have had your husband die
so honorably. First or last the war will come very close to most
of us and we would n't have it otherwise. My greatest horror
would be to have to occupy a place of safety. We who can take
any active part are fortunate. Certainly one could hunt through
the histories from the beginning and never find a better time
to live or better cause to die for. I 'm glad I 'm living and trying
to do my bit. If anything should happen to me I would call
my family foolish if they were n't glad rather than sad that I
had done so well. So I'm quite cheerful about anything that
may happen.
What did happen, in slightly more than a month, was
one of those accidents to which the best of aviators were
subject before their days of combat came. On July 15,
1918, he left the camp at Chateauroux for a "solo flight,"
and was passing a French machine, flying in the opposite
direction, when it suddenly swerved from its course, and
cut the tail from Goodwin's plane. They were about a
378
GEORGE WAITE GOODWIN
hundred metres in the air. FaUing from this height Good-
win sustained injuries from which he died that day with-
out regaining consciousness. He was buried, with mih-
tary honors, in the American Cemetery at Chateauroux.
In September, 1920, his body was reinterred in the Rural
Cemetery, Albany, New York.
The Aeronautic League of France honored Goodwin's
memory by the award of a bronze plaque, designed for
the recognition of meritorious students of aviation, but
infrequently bestowed. The more personal terms of recog-
nition are the more significant, and this memoir cannot
close more appropriately than with a few words from a
letter written by a Princeton friend (Andrew T. H. Ken-
ney), who had been thrown intimately with Goodwin both
at the Harvard Law School and in the aviation service:
George was straight and clean and fair. He played all life's
games with a nerve and a full heart. We used to work together
and dance together and play together. And now he has gone,
leaving a life as full and swift and perfect as it is possible for
one to be. He worked and fought for a cause that is as noble
and fine as was his sacrifice. We can feel certain that he has
aided to the fullest measure the coming of that era we all have
been praying for. We who were his friends will be sure to fight
more fiercely in war and peace for those ideals for which he died.
379
HOMER ATHERTON HUNT
Class of 1916
J. HE parents of Homer Atherton Hunt were Francis
Atherton Hunt, a brother of Atherton Nash Hunt, of the
Harvard Class of 1887, and Mary Merrill (Lane) Hunt, a
daughter of George Homer Lane of Boston. In his Hunt
ancestry, he counted John and Priscilla Alden of the
Plymouth Colony, and Enoch Hunt, an early settler of
Weymouth, Massachusetts, where he was born Decem-
ber 10, 1894. While he was still a child his family moved
from Weymouth to Braintree. In this place he attended
the public schools and received his final preparation for
college at Thayer Academy. He entered Harvard, a can-
didate for the Bachelor of Arts degree, with the Class of
380
HOMER ATHERTON HUNT
1916, but remained in college only two years. Between
1914 and 1917 he was employed by Cordingley and Com-
pany, wool merchants in Boston, and had become a suc-
cessful wool buyer when the United States entered the
war.
On October 4, 1917, he enlisted as a private in the army,
and was assigned to the 301st Infantry, 26th Division,
then in training at Camp Devens. In October also he was
married to Susan Elmira Hagar, of Weston, Massachu-
setts. On March 11, 1918, he sailed for France, where
he was transferred to Company E, 165th Infantry, 42d
("Rainbow") Division. This was formerly the famous
"Fighting 69th" New York Irish regiment, the distin-
guishing characteristics of which are suggested on later
pages of this volume in the memoirs of Lieutenant Oliver
Ames, Jr., and Major James A. McKenna, Jr., both offi-
cers of the 165 th.
Early in July, 1918, this regiment was summoned to
the Champagne front to meet an expected attack of
the Germans, and Hunt participated accordingly in the
Champagne-Marne defensive. On July 15 he was killed
in action at St. Hilaire-le-Petit. "We were in reserve,"
another private reported. "He was struck with a direct
hit from a shell and killed instantly. He received a letter
the day before he died with a picture of his baby onlj' a
few days old. One of the best fellows in the world. He
spoke French fluently." Still another comrade. Private
Lowell Holbrook, a Braintree boy, reported the circum-
stances a little differentlv. Hunt and Holbrook were
liaison runners for Battalion Headquarters. It was their
duty to take messages for their major to one company
381
HOMER ATHERTON HUNT
and another. When a barrage was put over it was their
work to set out with a message, one keeping about fifty
feet behind the other, so that if the first should fall, the
second could take the message from his pocket and carry
it on. This is Holbrook's brief statement: "I was right
beside Hunt when he was killed. We were lying on the
ground and Hunt was leaning his head against the post.
A high explosive burst near us and the vibration of the
post caused by it killed him. He was buried that night
about thirty feet from where he was killed." After the
Armistice his body was reinterred in the Argonne Ameri-
can Cemetery, Romagne-sous-Montfaucon, Meuse, and
there, in accordance with the wishes of his father and
widow, it has remained.
At the Harvard Commencement of 1920, the war degree
of A.B. was awarded to Homer Atherton Hunt, as of the
Class of 1916.
382
GEORGE FRANCIS McGILLEN
Class of 1917
(jTEORGE Francis McGillen, a son of Owen Mc-
Gillen and Anna (Fitzpatrick) McGillen, of Brookline,
Massachusetts, was born in East Boston, February 14,
1894. He made his preparation for college at the Pierce
Grammar School of Brookline and the Brookline High
School. For two years he played on the football team of
383
GEORGE FRANCIS McGILLEN
the High School, and for one year was manager of its
baseball team. At Harvard, which he entered in the
autumn of 1913, he played football and became a member
of the Catholic Club. In the Triennial Report of the
Class of 1917, the Class Secretary has said of him: "Al-
though he only remained one year, most of us remember
the cheerful, kindly boy who made us always glad to meet
him in the Yard or in our rooms. He did not remain in
Cambridge long enough to take an active part in under-
graduate affairs, but his record during the war entitles
him to a sure place in the annals of the Class of 1917."
In the interval between leaving college and participat-
ing in the war, McGillen was employed continuously by
the M. B. Foster Electric Company of Boston, electrical
contractors, and in the spring of 1917 held the position
of assistant superintendent. In March he enlisted as a
private in the Brookline Machine Gun Company, formed
at that time, and soon afterwards known as the Machine
Gun Company of the 9th Regiment, National Guard.
After its federalization, July 25, 1917, it was designated
as the Machine Gun Company, 101st Infantry, 26th
Division. In August McGillen was promoted sergeant
of this company, then in training for overseas service
at Camp McGuinness, Framingham, Massachusetts. On
September 4 it entrained for Hoboken, whence it sailed for
France on the following day, arriving at Saint-Nazaire,
September 20.
Soon after McGillen's landing in France, he was ordered
to the Automatic Weapon School of the American Army
at Gondrecourt. There, in the months of October and
November, he qualified as a machine gun instructor. In
384
GEORGE FRANCIS McGILLEN
January he went to the First Officers' School at Langres,
and prepared himself for the second lieutenancy to which
he was commissioned, May 15, 1918. He was then as-
signed to Company A, Machine Gun Battalion, 9th In-
fantry, a unit of the 3d Division, American Expeditionary
Forces.
On June 1 the companj^ entered the front line at
Chateau-Thierry. From this date until that of McGil-
len's death, it was constantlj^ taking its part in holding
the line at various points, chiefly on the Marne. The
German offensive in which McGillen lost his life began at
midnight of July 14, while he was in command of four
guns, each holding a strategic point on the river. When
the bombardment opened he was taking a late supper at
the post of command, in the small village of Parroy, near
Chateau-Thierry, about ten minutes' walk from his gun
positions. One of the officers who were with him at the
P. C. reports his saying repeatedly, "I want to go down
to my men, and I don't care what happens." His com-
panions prevailed upon him for a time to remain where he
was, for the bombardment was terrific, and venturing
forth meant certain death. Still he insisted upon joining
his men and at about 3.30 a.m. (July 15) Captain Carswell
and Lieutenant Russell of the 9th Machine Gun Battalion,
who had so far prevented his taking the unnecessary risk,
left their place of safety with him to see if it was then pos-
sible for him to carry out his wish. As they stood outside
the P. C, a shell exploded in the air, and McGillen, look-
ing up, was hit over the eye with a piece of shrapnel,
which killed him almost instantlv, after he had sunk to
the ground and asked for a drink of water. One of his
385
GEORGE FRANCIS McGILLEN
companions escaped unhurt; the flesh was stripped from
the other's back, from shoulder to waist. McGillen's
body was laid in the post of command, where it was
found undisturbed a few days later, after the place had
first been taken by the Germans and then captured by the
American troops. Buried in a plot of ground nearby, the
body was reburied a year later in the American Cemetery
at Seringes-et-Nerles, Aisne.
It is the testimony of Captain Carswell that "the death
of no other man caused greater grief and sorrow to the
whole company. While with us, he had greatly endeared
himself to everyone, always seeing the humorous side of
everything. Endowed with a sterling character, he had
proved himself such an efficient officer and good leader of
men that no other man in the battalion was better loved
or stood higher in personal estimation."
A non-commissioned officer of the company has de-
clared that from the way he conducted himself on a par-
ticularly bad night, June 6, 1918, he was rated one of
the best officers in the battalion, for not only then, but
at other times, he "seemed to be everywhere," constantly
cheering and helping his men. It was this sergeant,
Jerome Moynahan, who defined Lieutenant McGillen as
one who "will always be remembered by us as a thorough
soldier, brave and true, and a real gentleman."
One of his younger brothers, James G. McGillen, '20,
was commissioned ensign from the Officer Material
School at Harvard and detailed to duties at American
stations; another enlisted in the navy at the age of
seventeen and served in transport duty for a year and a
half.
386
EDMOND DAVID STEWART, Jr,
Law School 1915-17
W HEN the body of Edmond David Stewart, Jr., killed
in action July 15, 1918, on the Champagne front, was
brought to his native town of New Cumberland, West
Virginia, for burial on October 23, 1921, a professor of
English at the University of West Virginia, unable him-
self to be present, offered the following tribute to be read
as part of the services :
October 20, 1921.
To THE Memory or Edmond D. Stewart:
Beloved youth; brilliant student; member of the Phi Beta
Kappa Society, the Delta Tau Delta Fraternity, the Beowulf
Gedrhyt, the English Club, the Greek Club, distinguished for
his fine presence, handsome face, becoming modesty, and un-
failing courtesy; ambitious to be a scholar and a gentleman;
387
EDMOND DAVID STEWART, Jr.
embued with the knightly qualities of courage, temperance, and
chastity; a patriot of exalted devotion, who laid down his life
in the service of his country.
May his memory be sacred forever.
By his affectionate teacher,
John Harrington Cox.
The young man of whom these words were written was
born, October 25, 1894, in New Cumberland, West Vir-
ginia, still the home of his parents. He made his prepa-
ration for college in the New Cumberland public schools,
from which he entered the University of West Virginia,
at Morgantown, with the Class of 1915. The record he
made for himself there, through both scholarship and
character, has been indicated in the tribute already quoted.
In the autumn following his graduation he entered the
Harvard Law School. While in Cambridge he received
notice of his appointment as a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford,
but declined it by reason of the war already raging in
Europe. When his own country entered the fight, he
completed his second year as a student of law. On Sep-
tember 19, 1917, as other young men of New Cumberland,
drafted for service, were leaving for camp, Stewart, not
yet called before the draft board, presented himself for
service and was placed in charge of a local contingent.
He reported for service at Camp Lee, Virginia, was soon
appointed a sergeant, and later promoted to top sergeant.
On November 10 he was transferred from the 155th Depot
Brigade at Camp Lee to the 1st Provisional Recruit Bat-
talion. On February 27, 1918, he sailed for France as a
member of a picked company of replacements. Arriving
there March 11, he was immediately appointed sergeant
388
EDMOND DAVID STEWART, Jr.
in the 163d Infantry, 41st Division, from which he was
transferred to the 42d ("Rainbow") Division as sergeant
of Company G, 167th Infantry.
After only a month in France, Stewart was sent into
the trenches on the Champagne front. He was killed at
his post by a high explosive shell at 12.15 in the morning
of July 12, 1918, thirty minutes after the beginning of a
fierce defensive engagement lasting for several days.
Of 573 soldiers from Hancock County, West Virginia,
Sergeant Stewart was the only one killed in action. By
every token of promise he was one of those from whom a
life of leadership might have been expected.
389
WALTON KIMBALL SMITH
Law School 1914-15
JjORN at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, September 21, 1890,
Walton Kimball Smith was the son of Amos Appleton
Lawrence Smith and Frances Louise (Brown) Smith. His
father's name recalls an interesting episode linking a
generous son of Harvard with the cause of education in
Wisconsin. In 1845 Amos Adams Lawrence (Harvard,
1835), the father of Bishop Lawrence, became interested
390
WALTON KIMBALL SMITH
in a Protestant Episcopal missionary to the Oneida Indians
in Wisconsin, the Rev. Eleazer WiUiams, who was soon to
attract much attention as a possible claimant to the
romantic title of the "lost Dauphin," the missing son of
Marie Antoinette. Through trying to help this clergyman
out of financial difficulties, Mr. Lawrence found himself
the reluctant owner of more than five thousand acres of
land in the Fox River Valley in Wisconsin, which had
belonged to the missionary. In order to turn this property
to some useful account its new owner interested himself
in a project to establish an institution of learning upon it*
A Methodist minister, Reeder Smith — whose wife was a
member of the Boston family of Kimball — looked it over
and reported that a tract of land further up the Fox River
than the Williams tract was better adapted to the pur-
poses of a college. Accordingly this land was acquired,
and the town of Appleton, Wisconsin, named for Samuel
Appleton, of Boston, who joined with Amos A. Lawrence
in the enterprise, was laid out, and in it Lawrence Uni-
versity was established. A son of the Rev. Reeder Smith,
who settled there, was the first white child born in the
place, and received the name of Amos Appleton Lawrence
Smith. That the name of his son should be inscribed, more
than half a century later, upon the Harvard Roll of Honor
is one of those circumstances in which the fitness of things
may be traced.
Walton Smith had his preparation for college at the
Milwaukee Academy, the West Division High School of
Milwaukee, and, for the last two years, at the Lawrence-
ville (New Jersey) School. His mother died when he was
eleven, his father when he was sixteen. Through all these
391
WALTON KIMBALL SMITH
years of boyhood he spent the summers with his family on
a lake near Milwaukee, and became an ardent student
of nature, especially of birds. He was also a lover of
music, and greatly enjoyed playing the violin in school
musical clubs.
From Lawrenceville he entered Amherst College, where
he graduated in 1914. For the following year he was a
student at the Harvard Law School. In the autumn of
1915 he continued his study of law at the University of
Wisconsin, and was still there when the United States
entered the war. He registered for the first draft, but
his order number was so high that he believed it would be
at least a year before he could be called into service.
While he was an undergraduate at Amherst he had ex-
perienced one flight in an aeroplane which he remembered
with vivid pleasure. He therefore offered himself promptly
for the Aviation Corps examinations. To his great dis-
appointment, and his surprise — for he had taken a suc-
cessful part in school athletics — he failed to pass the
physical tests. In his desire to reach the front at the
earliest possible moment, he then sailed for France with
the hope of joining the American Field Service. On reach-
ing Paris he learned that it was still possible for an
American to engage in aviation with the British. Shortly
before Christmas, 1917, he passed his examination for the
Royal Air Force, and became a cadet in training as an
aviation observer.
This training took place in England. A letter written
by Smith to his brother on July 7, 1918, after his ground
tests were completed and he had been moved to No. 1
Observers' School of Aerial Gunnery, describes the sen-
392
WALTON KIMBALL SMITH
sations experienced in his first "joy-ride." "The pilot,"
he says, "was an officer instructor with a son eighteen
years old, so I was n't stunted very much, as the expres-
sion goes." The same letter tells of "firing the gun
camera and taking aerial photos," and reveals a lively
interest in his work and an intention to become a pilot
himself before long. His commission as lieutenant was
nearly won when, on July 16, flying with a pilot at New
Romney, Kent, his reputation as " a keen, industrious and
enthusiastic pupil" well established, he met his death in
an accident due to an error of judgment on the part of
the pilot. Both men were instantly killed.
Smith's body was brought to the United States and
buried in the Forest Home Cemetery at Milwaukee.
393
HUGH CHARLES BLANCHARD
Class of 1909
Hugh Charles Blanchard was born at Charles-
town, Massachusetts, May 9, 1886, the elder son of John
Henry Blanchard, a Boston lawyer, and Mary Ann (Kelly)
Blanchard. He made his preparation for college at the
Roxbury Latin School and Phillips-Exeter Academy. At
Exeter he distinguished himself in athletics by winning the
600-yard dash and becoming a member of the champion
1905 football team. At Harvard he played on the second
football team and his senior class team. He also excelled
in putting the 16-pound shot. While still in college, he
enlisted in the Massachusetts cavalry, in which he after-
wards received a commission as second lieutenant in the
Machine Gun Company of the 8th Regiment, M. V. M.
394
HUGH CHARLES BLANCHARD
With the organization he served on the Mexican border
from June to November, 1916,
Meanwhile he had spent the first three years after his
graduation from college as a student in the Harvard Law
School, from which he received the degree of LL.B. in
1912. On his admission to the bar, he associated himself
with his father's office, and duly became the junior mem-
ber of the law firm of Blanchard, Leventale, and Blanch-
ard. On June 23, 1916, he was married to Mignon Von
der Luft.
Blanchard's service on the Mexican border equipped
him with a valuable experience, not only in the practice
of commanding, but as a "summary judge" and a director
of the purchasing department of his regiment. On April
11, 1917, he was promoted first lieutenant, and remained
a member of the 8th Massachusetts until it was federalized
and incorporated in the 26th Division. In this unit he
was assigned, August 5, to Company B, 104th Infantry.
On October 4 he sailed for France, and later was trans-
ferred to Company L.
The personal record of his service abroad, involving par-
ticipation in engagements of the Chemin des Dames
sector, La Heine sector (Seicheprey and Apremont), and
at Chateau-Thierry, is meagre. But the Tenth Anni-
versary Report of his class provides a striking illustration
of his quality as a soldier.
On one occasion he was sent out in command of twenty men,
Americans and French, at Chemin des Dames, to reconnoitre
the enemy's line. While engaged in this he located the work
which later proved to be the emplacement of the long-distance
gun which was used in shelling Paris. He was discovered by the
395
HUGH CHARLES BLANCHARD
enemy, and a general alarm was given, causing a fierce firing
by both sides, and although greatly outnumbered, with his de-
tail in danger of annihilation, he brought safely back all but
five of his men. After the firing had ceased and an unsuccessful
search had been made for the missing, he was given, at his
earnest request, the privilege of again searching for them. The
search was conducted in broad daylight and all were saved.
The incident thus described is related, in slightly dif-
ferent terms, in a pamphlet, "In Memoriam: A Tribute
to Lieutenant Blanchard." From its pages the following
passages, bearing upon his service in France, may well
be copied in further illustration of his soldierly char-
acteristics :
With his whole energy, which was unusual, he devoted him-
self to the hard and exacting duty of preparation — that most
important work. Without going into details it is enough to say
that he learned it thoroughly, and he became ready and fit for
what was to be required of him. To him the work was always
serious although performed with a cheerful ardor which, as one
of the officers expressed it, was contagious. He thoroughly
understood and appreciated his responsibilities and throughout
his service fully discharged them. Studious and thoughtful
when not actively engaged, his well directed energy in action
was conspicuous. Although while in France he was given op-
portunity to return to the United States as an instructor, he
declined. For he felt that his duty was at the front. His su-
perior officers were highly pleased with this decision of his. They
recognized his worth and foresaw in him the successful soldier
which he subsequently proved himself to be by his intelligence
and well performed acts. The only anxiety felt by them was
caused by his overwork. Always ready, seeking rather than
waiting, he thus created in them a feeling of confidence which
was never disappointed but without exception fully justified.
396
HUGH CHARLES BLANCHARD
And so when the preparatory training was over and the regi-
ment took up its active work he was ready for whatever was
asked of or suggested to him. His incessant attention to the
details brought valuable results. Few of those who did not
participate in the operations in France can realize the difficul-
ties confronting the soldiers engaged in the many and varied
tasks imposed upon them. Guarding trenches, patrolling, mak-
ing reconnaissances, feeling their way over unknown ground,
ascertaining the location of the enemy, their artillery and ma-
chine gun positions, their infantry lines, and their searches made
in the night time when it was most difficult to avoid becoming
lost and getting out of touch with their own commands —
these undertakings exacted the highest skill, intelligence, and
courage. They were fraught with ever present danger. Many
times he proved himself equal to this work.
He was successful in reconnoitering dangerous woods which
few cared to explore. In these and other ways he won the hearty
approval and praise of regular army and volunteer officers. He
showed the men how to patrol, and to discover and avoid traps
which abounded in "No Man's Land." This tract which had
been considered as enemy ground, through his efforts and the
work of others, became allied territory. He continually studied
whatever maps could be obtained and acquired an intelligent
understanding of the land so far as that could be done. For he
seemed to have the topographical instinct, a quality so indis-
pensable to a successful campaigner. It has been said that he
was modest and unassuming in his ways, yet he had a singular
influence over the men. The reason for this was undoubtedly
that in dangerous emergencies he always went himself and did
not send someone else. As the great United States general in
the Civil War said of one of his gallant commanders, "With
him it was 'Come, boys,' not 'Go.'" So it came about that
when he was in command the men did not wait to be detailed
but volunteered. He thus had that influence over others which
forms so great a part of the necessary qualities of a successful
397
HUGH CHARLES BLANCHARD
commanding officer. We are not surprised when told that those
under him were in fine condition and under the best control,
and also that it was said of him that if spared he surely would
rise in rank, for he had the necessary gifts of a successful leader.
But this was not to be. For after the troops relieved the
Marines and the battle of Belleau Woods began, when deployed
in line of battle, they moved forward, he fell mortally wounded
leading his command against the enemy. Who can repress the
feeling of pride, melancholy though it be, when such an end
comes to one who has won the respect and affection of all who
knew him?
It was on July 18, 1918, that he fell.
398
JOHN ANDREW DOHERTY
Class of 1916
1 N the sketch of John Andrew Doherty in the Memorial
Report of the Class of 1916, these significant words about
him are found: "It is a matter of history that no small
amount of success which our football teams obtained dur-
ing our undergraduate life was due to the undaunted and
self-sacrificing efforts of the second team. 'Jack's' leader-
ship in this regard is well remembered, and his valuable
service as a member of the Varsity team during his senior
year in college was but the natural outcome of his in-
tegrity."
The young lieutenants of the American army, with
their months of obscure and arduous training followed in
many instances by mere moments of battle, might well
399
JOHN ANDREW DOHERTY
figure in a parable of the second team and the brief glory
of a swift decisive Varsitj^ game. To such a parable
Doherty's record would lend itself.
He was born at Roxbury, Massachusetts, September
4, 1894, a son of Daniel Francis Doherty and Augusta
Bridget (Williams) Doherty. His preparation for college
was made at the Boston Latin School, where he was prom-
inent in athletics. At Harvard he made an important con-
tribution to the football triumphs of his time by his hard
work on the second team in his junior year, crowned by his
playing at quarterback in the final portion of the game with
Yale in 1915, when Harvard won a memorable victory. At
the same time he was pursuing his studies with a success
which enabled him to take his degree of A.B. at the 1916
midyears. He was a member of the senior nominating
committee and of the Hasty Pudding Club.
The Memorial Report of his class describes his sub-
sequent activities as follows:
After his graduation Doherty pursued an advanced course in
Sanitary Engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Tech-
nology. In the autumn of 1916 he assisted Dr. Paul Withing-
ton as a backfield coach at the University of Wisconsin. At
the conclusion of the season he returned East and was em-
ployed in the drafting division of the Stone and Webster En-
gineering Corporation, from which he resigned in August, 1917,
to accept a position as a sanitary engineer for the State of
Massachusetts. Three weeks later he left this position to
attend the Second Plattsburg Officers' Training Camp, from
which he was commissioned in November, 1917, as a first
lieutenant (Infantry).
On January 12, 1918, he sailed for France as a casual.
On March 25 he was assigned to Company 1, 18th Infantry,
400
JOHN ANDREW DOHERTY
First Division. With this organization he participated in
engagements at Cantigny, the Noyon-Montdidier defen-
sive, and Chateau-Thierry. He was killed in action near
Soissons on July 18.
In the lack of personal detail concerning his service
abroad the comprehending reader will feel what is meant
in the words of the 1916 Memorial Report: "By edu-
cation and training Doherty was particularly fitted to
serve his country in the war with Germany in many ways;
those who knew him, however, were not surprised to hear
that 'Jack' had gone to the front with one of the early
American infantrv units."
401
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
Class of 1916
The father, both grandfathers, great-grandfather, and
great-great-grandfather of Kenneth EHot Fuller, youngest
son of Arthur Ossoli Fuller (Harvard, '77) and Ellen
(Minot) Fuller, born at Exeter, New Hampshire, March 9,
1894, were graduates of Harvard. His grandfather,
Arthur Buekminster Fuller (Harvard, '43), chaplain of the
402
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
16th Massachusetts Vokinteers, killed at the Battle of
Fredericksburg, was a brother of Margaret Fuller Ossoli.
Kenneth Fuller was entitled by inheritance to high quali-
ties, and he came to his own.
Except for one year when his family was living in
Cambridge, and he attended the Cambridge Latin School,
his preparation for college was made at Phillips-Exeter
Academy, in the New Hampshire town of which his
father, a practising lawyer, has long been a valuable citi-
zen. He graduated at Exeter second in his class, and came
to Harvard, in the autumn of 1912, with a Teschemacher
Scholarship. As an undergraduate he became a member
of the Pierian Sodality,^ Cercle Frangais, Exeter Club, and
Varsity Club, the freshman cross-country and track teams,
the Varsity cross-country team and track squad. From
college he passed to the Law School, and had not com-
pleted his first year (1916-17) when the call to arms and
his response to it turned his life from what had seemed its
destined course. Of what he brought to Cambridge, found
there, and bore away with him, a classmate has written
with sympathy and understanding in the Memorial Report
of the Class of 1916:
His early years in the country and his interest in his work at
school left him with a love for the out-of-doors, and a taste for
the best in books and music. Throughout his years in college,
a camp on the shores of Great Bay and a farm in Marlboro, New
Hampshire, were the places he sought most eagerly in vacation;
in term time he was anxious to make the best of his courses
1 It is significant of Fuller's musical interest and capacity that he
was afterwards one of a group whose photograph was used as the frontis-
piece of the Army and Navy Songboolc.
403
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
and the other intellectual opportunities offered him, supple-
menting them with independent reading, in which his instinct
for the finest and most worth while appeared clearly. Deter-
mined to serve the college in return for its service to him, he
worked faithfully on the cross-country team, and won his "H"
in his senior year. At the same time he gave his best effort to
his other work, and graduated with an A.B., cum lande.
Through it all he had the attitude of a questioner and seeker.
Nothing satisfied him until it was the best and the truest he
could achieve. Many commonly accepted ideas, in college and
out of it, puzzled him as to their real value, and he eagerly
questioned everything he undertook — every new course and
every new activity — until he was sure that he had found some-
thing he might truly interest himself in. The result of this
process was that he acquired certain very definite ideals in
which his confidence was unshaken and to which he steadfastly
clung.
One of these was his determination to excel in some college
activity; another, his resolve to preserve his health at its best, — ■
and these two aims he realized in his athletic accomplishment.
A third of his central ideas was to accept no statement, no
theory, and no doctrine until he had assured himself of its
truth. This principle he put into effect in all his academic work,
with the result that he could never bring himself to play the
parrot in an examination by echoing the remarks of an instruc-
tor, unless he had convinced himself of their truth. Possibly
his marks suffered accordingly; certainly his education profited.
Add to these aims and principles certain definite likes and dis-
likes in men and books, a love for France and her literature —
and the main ideals to which he was faithful are suggested.
Beyond these he was still in doubt as to many problems.
His future course always perplexed him, but after long dis-
cussion with himself, his family, and his other advisers, he de-
termined to enter his father's profession of the law. Gradually
his first doubts and misgivings were replaced by a vision of real
404
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
usefulness in a legal career, and he gave himself up heart and
soul to his work.
Then came the entrance of the United States into the war,
and for once he forgot all his problems in the finding of an ideal
which he could accept unhesitatingly, sure of its righteousness
— an ideal which required no examination to reveal its truth.
Everything else faded out before the problem of how he could
best serve the country and the Allies. For years he had loved
the French literature and spirit, and it had become his cherished
dream to travel in France. For years he had saved for this
pilgrimage. Now that France was in danger, his love for what
she had produced in art transformed itself into desire to fight
for the maintenance of her national ideals and the highest
standards of his own country.
Fuller was the better prepared to enter the Oflficers'
Training Camp at Plattsburg — which he did in May,
1917 ■ — ■ for his training at the Plattsburg camp of the
previous summer and in the Harvard R. O. T. C. On
August 15 he was commissioned second lieutenant of
infantry. From August 27 to December 12 he was as-
signed to the 151st Depot Brigade at Camp Devens;
then to the 12th New Hampshire Infantry at Camp
Greene, Charlotte, North Carolina. In February this
organization was designated the 1st Army Headquarters
Regiment. On March 15 it was transferred to Camp
Merritt, New Jersey, and before the end of the month,
having embarked at Hoboken on a transport that broke
down, and reembarked on another, it sailed for France.
Arriving at Brest, April 16, Fuller was immediately sent
to the Service of Supply Headquarters at Tours, where
he was stationed as commanding officer of casuals and
judge advocate of a special court, until June 27. Here
405
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
he might have remained indefinitely, but for his own feel-
ing that his place was at the front. At Tours he occupied
a post of responsibility. His work was that of his chosen
profession, the law; he lived in safety and comfort, among
friends. A position in the Judge Advocate Department
involving legal employment of a congenial kind and an
opportunity to travel throughout his beloved France was
offered to him. His superiors urged him to accept it, but
he declined, insisting upon more active service, if only
because the casualty lists, headed "second lieutenants
except where otherwise noted," demonstrated the grave
need of men trained, as he had been, for infantry work.
Writing to his father of his decision, and expressing the
fear that it might not meet with his approval, he said:
It was not easy to refuse such an opportunity, but I have come
over here trained to fight in the infantry. I don't think of the
future in terms of civilian life except in vague dreams. And if
I am to go back to civilian life, my self-respect demands that
I have a thoroughly honorable and proud answer to the ques-
tion, — "What did you do in the great war?" I have acquired
a strong dislike for the young, healthy emhusque, and it would be
a terrible wrench for me suddenly to become one. I think that
the second lieutenant who goes "over the top" successfully,
displays about the finest qualities a man can have, and for a
year my mind has been set on being put to the test to see if I
had a share of those qualities. . . . You may say that there
are a hundred times more men who can lead a platoon "over
the top" than there are that can do such specialized work as the
Judge Advocate business; but that is only an optimistic avowal
that mankind is well equipped with the finer qualities. Or you
may point out that it requires ten men behind the lines over
here for every one at the front. The answer to that is, "Who
would not rather be that one than one of the ten?"
406
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
It was thus at his own request that he was assigned, on
June 27, to Company C, 23d Infantry, 2d Division, which
he joined June 30 on the front line opposite Vaux, near
Chateau-Thierry. On the eve of this move he wrote
home: "I have never been happier since I joined the
Army. I am going to the front where men do the real,
honest-to-goodness work of the war, — where they sweat
and swear, but go to sleep (when they can) with easy
consciences and proud souls." The storming of Vaux
took place on the day after his joining the 23d, to which
he was attached for the crowded, brief remainder of his
life. Through this time the regiment was on the front
line or in support, taking part in the semi-open warfare
in which the 2d Division was engaged. On July 6, at
Triangle Farm, Fuller was placed in command of the
senior platoon of his company, and held this command
until he was killed. It was not a time for letter- writing,
but from the thick of the struggle came these significant
words :
How often you hear at home that there is no glory or romance
in war, and that war is hell. You believe it, and yet the signifi-
cance of it never comes over you till you get out here and see for
yourself. How the human race could have brought such hor-
rors upon itself is beyond comprehension. All man's philosophy
and conception of human nature breaks down. We have got
to do everything in our power to bring about permanent peace
and rationalism between peoples. The first and most horrible
step is to put down the nation that is opposed to such principles.
And in the course of the final fortnight of his life he
wrote this letter:
407
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
Out Thehe, God Knows When.
We lose track of the date, but it must be about July 13.
Dear Father, —
Do you remember that "Kapo" sleeping-bag you helped me
to get from Read's in Boston? Well, I slept in it last night and
am lying on it now, and I feel as if it were a life-saver. As long
as I can keep it with me and keep it dry, I shall be pretty well
off. Night before last I made my bed at 1 a.m. on the cold, wet
ground, and it consisted of a poor piece of canvas, a raincoat,
and one blanket. That is the way I have been living and it is
not refreshing.
You and I have read a lot about life at the front, and we have
imagined that we had a good conception of what it was like.
We had not. And you will not get it. It is one of the things
that needs to be experienced to be appreciated. No amount of
description would help.
Conditions where I am happen to be very unusual. We are
waging unsettled, semi-open warfare and have to jump from
here to there and all around. It is a regular gypsy existence.
By a great stroke of good luck we have had fair weather, or
heaven only knows how we should have stood it. The stars
have been my roof generally. Our life is irregular in the high-
est degree. There is no telling when we shall sleep, when we
shall eat, or when we shall fight. Of course, we move during
the night.
A few days ago I was separated from my battalion for reasons
I cannot explain, and I attached myself to Headquarters Com-
pany for the time being. I had lost my pack, but the first night
a private lent his blanket to me and another officer, while he
doubled up with a comrade. When daylight came I found I
w^as lying close to an old friend and classmate, Dave Loring
(Twitchell's roommate). I stuck with him for the next day.
He came over wdth this outfit right after Plattsburg, is now a
first lieutenant, and going strong. It sometimes makes me sigh
when I see what I might have done if I had started on a different
408
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
course. Still I have had a rich and varied career. I am glad I
did not remain at Devens, no matter how much promotion I
might have got. Those officers in the Depot Brigade must be
pretty disheartened now. I am in a good place now if I can
only pick up the necessary knowledge. I doubt if there is a
better fighting regiment in the Army. Our colonel is a wonder,
I don't suppose he will remain a colonel much longer.
If I stick with this outfit, get a lot of experience, see a lot of
action, and stay above ground, there is the possibility that some
day I might go back to the States as an instructor. That is, of
course, only a vague dream, but it is something to think of.
When I get gloomy about the war, there is nothing helps me
so much as to find some poilus and talk with them. They are
splendid. Though they have suffered so terribly, they are full
of fight and hope, and confident that the Boche cannot hold
out much longer. They have nothing but praise for the Ameri-
cans, and the word they use mostly in describing them is
cran. I guess you know what it means, a sort of dare-devil
elan, I think.
My personal opinion is that our soldiers are the best in the
world, and that if we only had the technique, organization,
liaison, and what-not, of the French, we could lick the Germans
tomorrow. That has got to come slowly. When it arrives and
we can roll forward like a huge, well-oiled machine, you may
look for peace.
A poilu told me an incident last night that delighted him.
He was in the thick of some of the hot fighting done by the
Americans. We got to a point where the thing to do was dig
in and hold on. The Americans dug absurd little dugouts,
that would not protect against much more than sunlight. This
poilu was much disturbed and told them they must dig, dig,
dig. The only response he got, according to his story, was,
"Ah! nous ne sommes pas ici pour faire des irons, mais pour
faire la guerre." (Oh, we are not here to dig caves, but to
fight.)
409
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
"VMien I joined Loring the other day. I hiked along with liis
platoon that night, and at about midnight we drew into a pretty
little village where we were to be billeted. The soldiers went
in the barns and lots. Loring and I had a room apiece, and
we actually found some clean old homespun sheets, and crawled
into the big old beds. I took off every stitch of clothing for
the first time in ten days. It felt fine and I shall not forget
the comfort of that bed. In the morning, we found we were
in the midst of a most beautiful piece of landscape. — a charm-
ing fertile valley. We went to the river (very celebrated it is),
and had a glorious swim. I have never felt cleaner than I did
then. My only trouble was that I had no clean underclothing.
I have since then obtained some and am tolerably well off.
I rejoined my company on foot that night, and here we are
out in the woods, doing I cannot tell you what, until I cannot
tell you when.
Some day I should like to indicate for you on a map just
what took place and where. Some day also I should like to see
some of the letters for me that must be lying around somewhere
in France.
Meanwhile I carry on.
Affectionately,
Kexxeth.
Co. C, '2Sd IXF.Os-TRY.
Fuller's death in action occurred at Vaux Castille. Julv
18, 1918. while he was leading a party of about ten of his
men in the final rush of a successful attack upon a nest
of machine guns which had held up the advance of his
company in the American drive upon the western (Sois-
sons) side of the ''^Nlarne Salient."
Vaux Castille is merely a cluster of perhaps a dozen
peasant cottages, on the western edge of a deep, wooded
ra%'ine. almost m the outskirts of Merzv. eight to ten
410
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
miles south of Soissons. This ravine and wood the Ger-
mans had strengthened with machine guns cunningly con-
cealed and so placed that every approach to any one
"nest" was commanded by the fire from another. As
the Americans were not adequately provided with ma-
chine guns or hand grenades, and had only a few auto-
matic rifles, the machine gun nests had to be taken with
rifle and pistol. The 23d, moreover, had spent the previ-
ous night in making its way, in a pouring rain, through
the maze of the Villers-Cotterets forest, reaching the
"jumping-off-place" and getting into position just as the
barrage opened; it had advanced several kilometres be-
fore reaching Vaux Castille, and naturally was not in the
best of condition for hand-to-hand fighting. Nevertheless,
it won its objective.
Colonel Bailey of the loth Field Artillery, which fol-
lowed the ^Sd Infantry, gave directions for the burial of
Lieutenant Fuller, and afterwards wrote to his father:
The drive southwest of Soissons (Vaux Castille and Vierzy)
was the "Antietam" of the war. The 23d and 9th Infantry
made a record that day that will live in history. Only Ameri-
cans like your son could have driven the enemy from the heights
across those ravines. It was terrible, but it was magnificent.
Your son died in the lead on the edge of the ravine. . . . He
was one of the brave fellows who led his men so rapidly, and
smashed through the Hun lines with such dash and vigor that
I was compelled to move my batteries up five different times
that first day in order to fire safely over them. Theirs was a
magnificent accomplishment because it was the beginning of
the end of the war.
^Mien the 23d Regiment was relieved, on the night of
the next day (July 19), it had only 37 officers and 1-478
411
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
enlisted men left, out of 99 officers and 3400 enlisted men;
it had captured 75 officers and 2100 men from eleven
different German regiments and taken two batteries of
150 mm. field guns, one battery of 210 mm., about 100
machine guns, and 15,000 rounds of 77 mm. ammunition.
On the recommendation of the commander of Company
C, Lieutenant M. G. Griffin, afterwards killed in the
Argonne, Fuller received a posthumous award of the Dis-
tinguished Service Cross with the following citation:
Second Lieutenant Kenneth E. Fuller, for extraordinary
heroism in action near Vaux Castille, France, July 18, 1918.
When his company was temporarily halted by heavy machine
gun fire, 2d Lieutenant Fuller personally led a group of ten
men in an attack on the machine gun position. He was killed
while leading this attack, but due to his heroic example the
enemy position was captured and his company was able to con-
tinue its advance.
He also received the Croix de Guerre, awarded in these
terms :
Le 18 juillet 1918, pres de Vaux Castille, a fait preuve d'une
grande hraroure en conduisant un assaut sur un nid de mitrail-
leuses en face de lui. Tue dans cette attaque.
Further honor of a sort rarely bestowed upon one so
young and low in military rank was the naming of a
temporary camp at the American S. O. S. Headquarters
at Tours, "Camp Fuller."
In August, 1920, several large piles of large-calibre Ger-
man and Austrian shells, still unexploded, were still to be
seen in the Vaux Castille ravine. The ground in many
places was fairly littered with rifle and machine gun car-
412
KENNETH ELIOT FULLER
tridges, exploded or still "alive." Most of the buildings
of the hamlet were in ruins, but some had been repaired
and reinhabited.
The proprietor of a little garden, at the crest of the
ravine, where eight Americans were buried in three graves
at the time of the fight, pointed out the places. The
bodies had been removed, but search of what had been
Fuller's grave revealed a few scraps of clothing and equip-
ment, and two helmets, one pierced by a machine gun
bullet.
413
PROCTOR CALVIN GILSON
Law School 1915-17
X ROCTOR Calvin Gilson, born at DeKalb, New
York, February 18, 1891, a son of Jared S. Gilson, came
to the Harvard Law School in the autumn of 1915, hav-
ing graduated in that year from St. Lawrence University
of Canton, New York, with the degree of Bachelor of
Science. At St. Lawrence he had been prominent in
athletics, especiallj^ football, in which he played guard on
the college team. There also he become a member of the
Phi Sigma Kappa fraternity.
At Harvard he pursued his law studies until May,
1917, when he entered the Officers' Training Camp at
Plattsburg. On August 15 he was commissioned second
lieutenant, infantry, and assigned to Company K, 9th
414
PROCTOR CALVIN GILSON
Infantry, 2d Division. Between this time and his sail-
ing for France with the "Fighting Ninth," he was married
to Marjorie Zoe Phillips, of Carthage, New York, a former
student at St. Lawrence LTniversity.
In France he was promoted first lieutenant, March 23,
1918. He took part in engagements of the Toul and Troyon
sectors, the Aisne defensive, Chateau-Thierry, and the
Marne-Aisne offensive. On June 12, 1918, in response to
the first request for military information from the Harvard
War Records Office, he wrote: "My company has been
once cited by the French for distinguished service." It
should be noted also that Lieutenant Gilson was chosen
to represent his company' in the parade of American troops
in Paris on July 4, 1918.
On July 18 he was killed in action near Longpoint, not
far from Soissons. With his captain and five other men
he had become separated from his company. All of his
companions were wounded. After they had lain concealed
in a ravine for forty-eight hours without food, Gilson vol-
unteered to bring help. His body was found afterwards
near the edge of a wheat field just outside the ravine.
A few days before his death he had received notice that
he was to be promoted to a captaincy.
415
ORVILLE PARKER JOHNSON
Class of 1918
\Jrville Parker Johnson, born in Dulutli, Min-
nesota, June 10, 1895, while his father was in the min-
istry and serving a church in Duluth, was the son of
Charles Henry Johnson (Harvard, '02) and Elvina (Peter-
son) Johnson, daughter of the Rev. O. P. Peterson of
Brooklyn, New York. His mother died in Albany,
416
ORVILLE PARKER JOHNSON
February 29, 1908. His father, long identified with
prison and reformatory work, has been Secretary of the
New York State Board of Charities since September,
1916.
Johnson graduated from the Albany Academy in 1914.
He was an officer in the battalion of that school, and while
sergeant won the sergeant's medal for proficiency in
drilling. He entered Harvard College in the fall of 1914,
and soon afterwards became a member of the National
Guard of Massachusetts by joining in the fonnation of a
machine gun company in the 8th Massachusetts Regi-
ment. At college he belonged to the Sigma Alpha Epsilon
fraternity, and played the French horn in the Harvard
Regiment band. His enthusiasm for military matters
was great, and when the Mexican trouble came in the
summer of 1916 he went with his regiment to the border
as first sergeant of his company. While there he was ap-
pointed second lieutenant, but, owing to certain rules as
to length of service and age, the appointment had to be
changed by the captain. He returned to college in Decem-
ber, 1916, and made up his studies. In April, 1917, he
was elected second lieutenant of his company and quali-
fied, receiving his appointment from the state, April 15.
When war with Germany was declared, he was not only
active in recruiting among Harvard men but went from
shop to shop in the manufacturing towns about Boston
urging men to volunteer and not wait to be drafted into
service. His regiment went early in the summer of 1917
to Camp Bartlett, Westfield, Massachusetts, and on
August 29, 1917, he was assigned to the Headquarters
Company. The organization had been federalized July 25,
417
ORVILLE PARKER JOHNSON
1917. When it was about to embark for France he was
transferred, September 26, to Company B, 103d Machine
Gun Battahon — the new designation of his unit — com-
posed of men from Maine, Connecticut and Vermont.
He left camp October 2, 1917, and sailed from New York
on the Cedric October 4, arriving in Liverpool October 17,
and at Havre October 21.
During the training period he was in charge of various
billets. He went into the trenches early in 1918, and
shared the part of his regiment in the engagements in the
Chemin des Dames and La Reine sectors. In the spring
he took special courses in bombing and gassing in the
First Corps School, and presumably would have been sent
to America as an instruction officer in these branches had
he survived. When the Chateau-Thierry offensive began,
his regiment was in the fight, and on July 18, while John-
son was leading his men into the village of Torcy, a short
distance from Chateau-Thierry, which had been taken by
his company a few moments before, he was struck by a
bomb and died a few moments later. One of his sergeants
wrote soon afterwards to Johnson's father:
Lieutenant Johnson was not very well known to our com-
pany previous to July 16, as he was formerly with a different
company, although in the same battalion. But during our
short acquaintance of only two days, he proved to his men that
he was a wonderful soldier-officer and what was more, a man.
Your son was in command of our third platoon, with a
Sergeant Sabine and myself with his two sections. We left
Belleau Wood about 6.30 or 7.00 on the morning of July 18,
and headed for our objective, which was the town of Torcy.
This town was about a quarter of a mile away over open coun-
try. The infantry had advanced ahead of us, so all we had to
418
ORVILLE PARKER JOHNSON
fear was the artillery. We arrived in Torcy with very few
casualties, and our lieutenant placed my two guns and then
took our other sergeant out in front of the town, in plain view
of the enemy and endeavored to find a shell-hole to place the
other two guns.
Lieutenant Johnson ran in front of his sergeant around a
small shrub. As he did, a small shell — either a one-pounder
or a "77" — exploded immediately in front of him. He fell
and Sergeant Sabine with some help carried him back into the
street of the town where we had a little protection. He was
conscious for about ten minutes. I was yelling to find out if
any one knew where a Red Cross Station was, and hearing
him speak I bent down and he told me it was "down to the
church." He repeated that several times. We tried to use a
tourniquet on his right leg and left arm, but could do nothing.
So by the time that a medical man came, he was very near gone
from concussion and loss of blood, and died on the stretcher.
I shall not try to sympathize with you myself, as I could not
word it, but you had a man for a son in Lieutenant Johnson.
He was buried in Belleaii ^Vood, where his body now
lies. He was much beloved by his men. In the last letter
he wrote to his father, the night before he died, he said
in closing, "I am asking God to help me to use my brain
in order to protect my men, to succeed in my mission,
and to act bravely,"
The captain of his company wrote:
He was not only extremely popular with his brother officers
in the battalion but so with all the men. Never have I met such
a man. His untiring persistency in caring for his men was an
example never equaled. He led a platoon with the battalion
which took and occupied Torcy, July 18, 1918. He would
never ask or send a man where he would not go. In fact he
would not allow one of his sergeants to accompany him on a
419
ORVILLE PARKER JOHNSON
reconnaissance of one section of the town of Torcy. It was on
this trip that he met his death from a shell. His sergeant, hear-
ing a shell land near the ruins into which your son had entered,
hastened forward. To the end he tried to have the sergeant
leave him, fearing for his safety. He met his death as he had
lived — ever willing, cool at all times, and his courage un-
questioned.
The Lieutenant Orville P. Johnson Post No. 202, Vet-
erans of Foreign Wars, was organized in Albany in 1919.
At the Harvard Commencement of the same year the
war degree of A.B. was conferred upon Johnson as of
the Class of 1918.
420
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
Class of 1918
XvoBERT MoRSS LovETT, Jr., a son of Robert Morss
Lovett,^ of the Harvard Class of 1892, Professor of English
in the University of Chicago, an editor of the New Repub-
lic, and Ida Campbell (Mott-Smith) Lovett, was born at
Boston, July 21, 1896. He spent the first year of his life
in Italy, where "bimbi" became on his lips "Bimbles" —
the name which, more than anything else, recalls him to
his oldest friends. His years at the Elementary School
of the University of Chicago brought out in him a char-
acter of great sweetness and gentleness, relieved, it is true,
by humor, but lacking, as his parents thought, in certain
^ Special acknowledgments are due to Professor Lovett for this
memoir.
421
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
elements necessary to success in a competitive society. In
particular he was averse to strife of any sort, a natural
pacifist. A teacher recalls seeing him, when a little boy,
prone on the grass of the Midway Plaisance but otherwise
exhibiting no signs of discomfiture. "Why are you lying
there.'*" she asked. "A big boy knocked me down."
"Well, why don't you get up?" "He might knock me
down again." Above all, he was devoted to his home and
family.
To counteract these unpromising tendencies, when he
was thirteen his parents took him to Munich and placed
him in a large boarding school in which Herr Romer was
trying to stiffen the educational laxity of Bavaria by a
little Prussianism. " Zn streng" was the comment of the
Miinchners, and doubly strenuous it was for an American
boy, quite ignorant of German, and held, from the mo-
ment of his entrance, responsible for obeying all the elabo-
rate regulations of the school. After a time he was allowed
to become a day scholar, his first recitation falling at six
in the morning and his last at seven in the evening. His
father recalls turning on the light in his room one night
about eleven, when Robert promptly rolled out of bed,
and, with ej^es only half open, shed his pyjamas and began
to wriggle into his underclothes. At the warning, "It's
only eleven; you don't have to get up," he automatically
reversed his motions, and without a word sank back into
bed. He thus achieved a kind of stoicism which later
stood him in good stead. Nothing could touch him
further. After two years with Herr Romer he could face
the hardships of training camp, oflScers' school, and front
trenches with entire equanimity.
422
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
One great alleviation he found in school life, the excur-
sions into the Bavarian Alps, winter and summer, which
were led by the Herr Direktor himself. Two summers
were spent at the little village of Sand in the Tyrol;
and with his father he made the ordinary ascents in
the eastern Alps. A third summer the family spent at
Champery and Chamounix, a summer crowned by cross-
ing to Italy over the Col du Geant, and a return to Switzer-
land by the Theodule Pass to Zermatt, with an ascent of
the Matterhorn. But these summer climbs were nothing
in comparison with winter excursions into the Zillerthal
and Oetzthal Alps made in company with two American
boys, William and Edward Thomas. No guides could be
engaged. On skis and snowshoes they located passes by
contour lines, and dug their way into huts half buried in
snow. The second trip culminated in the ascent of the
Schwartzenstein from Sand, a night in a hut which they
fortunately discovered, where the temperature a few feet
from the stove never got above freezing, and a dangerously
rapid descent to Mairhofen to catch the last train for
Munich. Mountains and mountaineering became the pas-
sion of Robert's life. He was not in general a great reader,
but the literature of mountain climbing he read in any
language. And one thing his mountains did for him, as
for Mr. Wells's hero in "The Research Magnificent," —
they made him forever free of all sense of fear. That
source of suffering of the soldier he was spared.
On the return to America, as Robert still evinced a curi-
ously boyish love of his home, it was decided to send him
to boarding school. His great-grandfather had been at
Phillips-Andover; his father's college chum, Allen Benner,
423
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
was professor of Greek there, so thither he was sent for
three years. As a result of his familiarity with German,
he was appointed in successive years to act as guide and
interpreter of the American school to exchange teachers
from Germany. He took the classical course. He was not
a brilliant student; he had little interest in modern litera-
ture; but in the classics, in Greek especially, he took real
joy. Homer, Sophocles, like the Matterhorn, were part
of the great experience in life which his nature craved.
He continued his classical studies at Harvard, which he
entered in 1914; but in preparation for that competitive
struggle which he was never to share, he gave his best
efforts to political economy. They were his best, although
not very successful. He entered a minor sport, lacrosse,
but probation invariably deprived him of the important
games. But association with the lacrosse team, with his
fraternity brothers of Alpha Phi Sigma, and with friends
on the faculty, especially Professor E. K. Rand (who was
his godfather). Professor R. DeC. Ward, and others, was
the best that Harvard gave him; and it was much. He
was a member, moreover, of the St. Paul's Society, the
Andover Club, and the Deutscher Verein.
While at Andover and at Cambridge, Lovett had some
share in social work for boys, first at Lawrence and later
with a library group at South Boston. His interest in
these boys was very genuine. They played a part in his
education for military office. And another experience was
not without significance. In the summer after his sopho-
more year he acted for a time as a reporter for the Chicago
Tribune. It was the season of the regrettably large num-
ber of casualties from drowning; he was regularly assigned
424
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
to interview the family of the victim, and more than once
it happened that he was the first to bring the fatal news.
His spirit suffered — but the discipline of his sympathy
was a preparation.
When the United States entered the war, Lovett, a mem-
ber of the Harvard R. O. T. C, applied for admission
to the training camp at Plattsburg and was accepted.
On completing his course there and receiving his com-
mission as a second lieutenant, infantry, he was assigned
as an instructor at Camp Devens, but almost imme-
diately was ordered to join the 26th ("Yankee") Divi-
sion, for service overseas. Unlike many boys, he was
not anxious for overseas service. The cruelty of war
was utterly repellent to him, and he thought it a pecul-
iarly hard fate which brought him into armed conflict
with boys who had been his schoolfellows and friends.
Yet, when General Edwards offered to return him to his
original assignment at Camp Devens, he refused. When
the example of an older lad, who had asked to remain on
this side for further training, was pointed out to him, he
said: "He's sure that's the real reason. I can't be. I'd
better go where they want me." Fortunately he had no
question of the good faith of the leaders of the nation, nor
did he doubt their assurance that he was to fight in the
cause of a better world.
At Westfield, Massachusetts, he went into camp late
in August, with the 103d Regiment, as second lieutenant
of Company E. In September, 1917, the Division was
ordered overseas, and, after a few weeks in England, settled
down to a winter of training near Chaumont. Lovett's
letters to his family were constant. He knew the terrible
425
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
fear in his home, and made an effort, pathetically evident,
to dwell upon the brighter side of war. Never did he
speak of the enemy in terms of hatred or contempt. To
him they were boys like himself, set apart to die that older,
more valuable men with families, financial interests, social
responsibilities, and political position might be spared.
He was fortunate in his immediate associates. The
company to which he was attached was from Skowhegan,
Maine, and had been under the same captain as part of
the National Guard of the state. There was understand-
ing and good fellowship between officers and men. To
both, his nature, so ready to attach itself by affection and
loyalty to the human beings near him, went out. The
company became hi? home. He did not wish to leave it.
Captain Healy used to tease him by threatening to reveal
his knowledge of German and French, which might have
caused his assignment to staff work. When he was sent
to an officers' training school, he asked both his colonel
and his captain to put in applications for his return to his
company. Everyone who knew him will understand
Captain Healy's writing that he had come to love him as
a younger brother; and will not be surprised that, when
he rejoined his company a few days before Marshal Foch's
offensive of July 18, he stood before his platoon with the
tears running down his cheeks. He had worked hard with
the inspiration of learning how to take care of his men.
It would have been unspeakable tragedy for him if they
had gone into action without him.
On the morning of July 18, the 103d Regiment took
part in the offensive from Belleau Wood. The following
letter gives an account of events as they appeared a few
426
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
days later, though one material fact is omitted — namely,
the failure, on account of bad staff work, of the rest of the
brigade to move forward in support, leaving the 103d ex-
posed to flank attack. It was evidently this circumstance
which led Lieutenant Lovett to question the orders which
he had received.
2 RUE d'Aguesseau, Paris, France.
July 26, 1918.
Dear Mr. Lovett:
This letter I typewrite because it is more likely to reach you
if it is not in handwriting. I will not intrude upon your grief
with expressions of sympathy for the loss of that beautiful lad
Robert. But I will tell you all I have been able to learn about
him.
Yesterday, the 25th, I was near the front lines when I met
Captain Healy, Robert's captain. I heard him mention the
name, and asked if the lieutenant he spoke of was your boy.
When I found he was, I reached every one I could who had been
with him, and spent the day questioning all persons connected
with Robert's platoon and company so as to get as accurate
an account as possible. The facts are blurred already — just
in one little week. The letter Captain Healy will write may be
a bit different from mine, but these are the facts so nearly as I
can find them out from talking to twenty men. If I say any-
thing that hurts, forgive me; God knows that I would spare
you if I could, but I think the day will come when you will want
all details.
The friends of Robert's whom I have talked with, besides
Captain Healy, are Lieutenant Kirkpatrick, who was with him
at Plattsburg; Lieutenant Sniff, a very keen and accurate and
sympathetic person; Ward Black, a Y. M. C. A. worker who
knew your son well; and Sergeant Emory who was devoted to
him. There was a corporal with him at the end, one Lancto.
No one knows where he is; he has been evacuated, and all traces
of him are lost. But I will do my best to find him. . . .
427
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr. .
On "Wednesday night, very late — indeed, almost Thursday
morning — word came from General Foch that companies hold-
ing the line were to go over almost at once; they were to start
at 4.45, Thursday morning, the 18th. It was not possible to get
ready by that time, so Robert's regiment (or the companies of
them in action) did not start till 7.15. Lieutenant Kirkpatrick
went across the day before; he says that Robert teased him
about having to go over first. You must know that these lads
have a way of jesting over their chances, and Robert was telling
him he'd never be back, and laughing and pretending that
Kirkpatrick was afraid. All these men say that Robert did not
know what fear of danger was, and that before this time when-
ever he was in action he was always laughing beforehand —
sure he was coming back. They did not say that he said he'd
come back; but the impression of everyone with whom I talked
was that Robert thought nothing could ever happen to him.
But he was very quiet this Thursday morning; Lieutenant
Sniff and Sergeant Emory both noticed it. Both these men (and
they are not hysterical persons) say that three or four times they
have seen brave men quiet in just that way, and they have taken
it for a premonition that they would not come back. Robert said
almost nothing to any of them.
I have seen those dreadful woods, and I shall try to tell you
about them. There is first the fringe of the woods where Robert
and his men stood before they went across the open. Then
comes a very long stretch of wheat-fields; the wheat is almost
hip high, or a little less. I think the fields must be almost half
a mile across. Then comes a railroad track, wuth a gully at the
side. On the other side is the hill which the men were to try
to take.
This hill, it was known, was manned by various German
machine-gun companies, but no one guessed how many there
were. The reason why Foch sent his orders so late was that he
did not want the Germans to have any warning of what was
going to happen. They were to think (and evidently they did
428
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
think) that an enormous force was coming over. If they had
guessed how few companies there were, they need not have run
away as they did. But because the notice was so short, the
officers had no time to reconnoitre. That is, Robert and his
men went over territory entirely unknown to them.
Most of the soldiers when crossing the wheat -fields drop into
them occasionally for cover. I assume that Robert and his
platoon must have done this; at any rate, there were very few
losses until they had got well past the wheat-field bisected by
the road; then they got into the rest of the wheat -field and ap-
proached the gully. At that point, as I understand it. Captain
Healy had ordered Robert to take his platoon and go about by
the left flank of the hill. (I have seen this country up to within
a few score yards of the gully; but I can only tell you from hear-
say how the ground was just about there.) Robert and his men
lay flat, and began to crawl through the wheat. The machine
guns were not turned upon them, but the German snipers shot
at them. \Mien he was half way to the bit of woods he was to
take (just a few trees, I understand, where Germans were sup-
posed to be lurking), Robert came back. When he started,
young Emory begged him to be careful. He said Robert was
so fearless and he had been crawling rather recklessly. Robert
did go carefully, and reached Captain Healy safely. He said,
"Captain, they're sniping my men. Have I got to go on?"
The Captain replied that the woods had to be taken. ("I told
Lovett he had to do it; I thought it was only a bit of brush.
Anyway, it had to be done.") So Robert said, "All right; I'll
go on with what men I have left."
He started back and came safely to his men. They crawled
on a bit further and then halted for a time; they had been losing
men pretty heavily. Robert kept crawling up and down his
line of men to give them instructions and "to see how things
were going," as Emory says. Emory kept warning him to
crawl with as little movement as he could, and he did. At one
time he took three men, did some reconnoitering, and got back
429
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
safely. Then Emory seems to have been separated from him,
and Lancto was beside him. At something hke nine o'clock
Robert was shot in the thigh by a sniper. He said, "That's a
funny place to get hit." That wound was evidently not serious.
Some of the men I talked with say that at that moment the
order came for the company to retreat and that Robert began
to crawl back with the others. Some say that before the order
came to retreat he was again shot; that is, that he did not
attempt to crawl. If I can find Lancto, I may learn about this.
But, in any case, soon after he had the first wound he was shot
again, this time in the head. The two men beside him were also
shot. It may have been machine-gun firing this time, or it may
have been sniping. In any case Lieutenant Sniff says he knows
he did not suffer. Lieutenant Sniff says the nervous exaltation
is such that a man does not feel these bullet wounds; with
shrapnel it is different. They are all of the impression that
Robert died almost instantly after the second wound, or wounds,
in his head; that when the retreat was ordered and the men had
to crawl away, leaving their wounded, your son was done with
all this bitter war.
But this is true: when the litter-bearers went out to find the
wounded, the Germans had stolen Robert's watch and money —
everything he had, even letters. He was buried in the little
cemetery at Bouresches. I can scarcely get permission to go
there again, or I would gladly get a picture of his grave. It is
just a little town, shelled very much, chiefly by the Germans,
where the civilians have just begun to creep back. These French
civilians will care for the grave and keep flowers on it all summer.
Robert had just come back from school, where he had dis-
tinguished himself very much. All his friends in the company
were impressed with his mental power. He talked a good deal
in that last week of his life about what had happened at school.
Ward Black had a long conversation with him; Mr. Black used
often to bring Y. M. C. A. supplies to his men. Robert was very
anxious that they should be as well supplied with extras as pos-
430
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
sible, and often asked Mr. Black to do errands for this platoon.
He told Mr. Black how he had been assigned to another divi-
sion and had not wanted to leave his own original division, and
had got Captain Healy to arrange for him to return. I asked
Captain Healy if he had spoken much in that last week of things
at home and he said no; that Robert had said only that he
would ask, or had asked, you to get a watch for Captain Healy
like his own.
No one seems to remember much of what Robert said in detail,
but they all speak of his lovable personality. They say that no
one could have been braver, or more cheerful, more boyish.
He liked to tell them of the pranks he used to play as a young
lad, — such as pawning his suit case. Captain Healy says his
conduct over here was in all ways what you would have been
proud of. I cannot tell you what love he seems to have inspired
and what grief, especially in Captain Healy and young Emory.
Captain Healy was in tears when he told me about having to
give him that order to take his men on the flank. "I never
loved a man as much as I did Lovett," he said. Poor Emory
could not speak without his voice breaking.
I don't know how to write this letter, Mr. Lovett; how to
tell you and his mother how much that cheerful, thoughtful
personality meant to Company E in the way of example to the
men, and to the officers. He laughed at hardships, but he never
let his men have more hardship than they must. I carried away
such a sense of sunny youth. They wanted me to tell you that
he really had been happy over here; liked the soldier life. I am
glad his end was so easy; you need not think of him as lying
wet or wounded or suffering; the great agony of some, Robert
never had to suffer.
As to finding Lancto — I may not be able to do it. It is
amazing how soon facts and men are lost track of here. No one
of his company could tell me anything about him. . . . Later
he will be found, but I want to reach him soon, while he can
remember freshly.
431
ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, Jr.
Captain Healy will write you, too. There is no more that I
can learn. With deep sympathy,
Faithfully yours,
Maude Radford Warren.
In the Thirtieth Anniversary Report of the Class of
1892 there is the following brief summary of the circum-
stances of Lovett's death:
The engagement in which he lost his life occurred at the very
beginning of Foch's offensive. The attack was to have begun
at 4.30 of July 18, but it was not until three hours later that the
regiment emerged from the Belleau Woods. The objective
which Robert's company was to take was evidently too strong,
for it did not yield until two days later. Robert got his platoon
into cover in a wheat field and crawled back across the open
grounds to report his losses and ask if he was to continue the
attack. They said "Yes," and he answered very cheerfully,
"Then I'll go on with the men I have left." He was very proud
of his men. He might have had an instructor's position, but he
did not wish to leave them. Very few of the platoon engaged
escaped death or severe wounds. His own death was probably
instantaneous, just as a retreat was ordered.
432
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
Law School 1908-10
Ijester Clement Barton was born, June 27, 1884,
in the Chicago suburb of Maywood, Illinois, founded in
1869 by his grandfather, William Thomas Nichols, colonel
of the 14th Vermont Regiment, which played an important
part in the action under General Stannard on the third
day of the Battle of Gettysburg. This soldier, reputed the
first Vermonter to enlist for the Civil War, was himself
descended from Neri Crampton, a young lieutenant with
Ethan Allen at the surrender of Fort Ticonderoga.
Through his father's family, Barton traced descent from
three holders of his name in as many generations who took
part in the War of the Revolution; from Sarah (Towne)
Cloyce, acquitted of witchcraft at about the same time
433
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
that her sisters, Rebecca (Towne) Nourse and Mary
(Towne) Easty, were executed, in the Massachusetts Bay
Colony, for this s^upposed offense; and from Stephen Hop-
kins of the Mayfloicer company. He was the eldest son
of George Preston Barton, long a practising lawyer in
Chicago, now living in California, and of Lucy (Nichols)
Barton.
Barton attended the public schools in Chicago, and
graduated from the Chicago Manual Training School in
1901. A year at Phillips Academy, Andover, then pre-
pared him to enter Yale, in the autumn of 1902, with the
Class of 1906. At Andover he won a prize in Latin and
graduated with high standing. At Yale he took part in
football, rowing, and basketball.
His connection with the Harvard Law School for two
years followed one year (1906-07) of legal study at the
University of Chicago. Five years after graduating from
Yale he gave the following account of himself in the Class
Report of 1911:
The year following graduation I lived at home and attended
the Law School of the University of Chicago, the co-educational
atmosphere of which was quite a contrast to my previous eight
years' experience. Then, being short of funds, as usual, I took
a photographic outfit and two friends up into Minnesota and
Wisconsin to two militia camps and took in $900 in two weeks.
Feeling that the possession of so much wealth in a large city
might have a pernicious effect on my character, I immediately
started for Wyoming with the same two and one more friend,
and we took a thousand-mile trip with six horses, starting from
Lander and including the cosmopolitan metropolis of Ther-
mopolis, Yellowstone Park, and Jackson's Hole. After a month
in Chicago it seemed to me that the most profitable thing I could
434
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
do then, under all the circumstances, was to look around the
West some more, and incidentally earn my own living, inas-
much as I could n't raise enough money to go to Harvard Law
School. So I bought an eight-thousand mile round-trip ticket
(including Phoenix, Arizona, and Victoria, B.C.) and started
the latter part of November. Among other things I wholesaled
from San Diego to Seattle my own photographs of the Atlantic
Squadron, then on its way round the world. Had a little office
in 'Frisco and two or three assistants. On this trip I made at
least 20,000 prints and covered about 15,000 miles in all. Re-
turned to Chicago in July.
The following two years, which I spent at Harvard Law
School, I look back on with a great deal of satisfaction. For the
past six years, I have made some kind of a Western trip each
summer, and feel very familiar with the country out there.
This past summer (1910) I returned to Chicago about October 1,
passed my bar exams, got a job as attorney for Charles Hall
Ewing and the Helen Culver estate. . . .
Soon after this beginning he served for a time as as-
sistant state's attorney for Cook County, Illinois, and
later was engaged in examining titles for the Chicago Title
and Trust Company. In 1916 he opened a law office of
his own and entered upon independent practice.
The beginnings of his military service are summarized
as follows in the "Yale Obituary Record":
When war was declared he almost immediately offered him-
self at the first Officers' Training Camp at Fort Sheridan, Illi-
nois, but was required to wait, on account of a sprained knee,
until the second camp, which he entered on August 27, 1917.
On November 27, 1917, he was commissioned a second lieuten-
ant of field artillery, and immediately ordered to France. He
sailed by way of Halifax and England, and reached France,
January 7, 1918. There he followed the regular intensive train-
435
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
ing at Saumur, and in April, 1918, he was assigned to Battery B,
101st F. A., 26th Division, then stationed at Toul. Early in
May he had a leave and visited his sister Thyrza (Mrs. Sherman
W. Dean), a Y. M. C. A. worker in Paris, and his half-brother,
William S. Barton, a sergeant in the ambulance service.
Soon after Barton reached France he set up the practice
of sending bulletin letters, "dope sheets" he called them,
to a number of friends in America. They told of what he
was both doing and thinking. In the first of them he had
to relate an accident to his foot while he was riding at the
Field Artillery School at Saumur. The second was written
from a hospital cot in the officers' ward of Base Hospital
27, at Angers, where he spent several weeks recovering
from this injury.
The only joy of the situation is the marvellous opportunity to
read and study, without distractions, and I am fully taking ad-
vantage of it. The available books are the only limitation. Be-
sides the occasional Paris edition of New York and Chicago
newspapers, magazines, etc., during the past three and a half
days I have read: 1. "The Preacher of Cedar Mountain," a
story of the Black Hills, and Chicago, in the 80's, by Ernest
Thompson Seton. It is a better tale than I supposed he could
write, and some parts of it strike a responsive chord in my own
experience, — as to a love for the open places of the West, etc.
2. "Kitchener's Mob" is very similar to "Over the Top," but is
written by a more intelligent man and possibly from a less
egotistical viewpoint. It is only 200 pp. and a vivid piece of
writing. 3. Some of the latest Sherlock Holmes stories, entitled
"His Last Bow." 4. Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina." Have only
read 225 pp. out of the two volumes, so far, but am entirely
fascinated. I shall certainly get hold of some more of his books,
and confess that I have read none before. This one reminds me
of de Morgan's "Joseph Vance" in its detailed characterization,
436
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
but seems more interesting and meaty. In addition to reading
I am planning to keep up with the work at the school, certainly
the book part of it, and unless I am out more than a month,
which is n't likely, I shall hope to finish with the others about
the middle of April. By the time they all arrive, there will be
almost 700 student pfiicers in the school.
When he joined the 26th Division he took pleasure in
meeting a number of Harvard men among the officers.
Much of the news he sent home had to do with experiences
common to all. In one letter written from the front, and
but indirectly connected with his work as a field artillery
ofiicer, he showed himself an attentive and appreciative
observer.
June 8, 1918.
Dear Friends:
Yesterday I had a most wonderful experience — as great and
joyous a thrill as one can have — at least from a mechanical con-
trivance — my first flight of If hours, in an aeroplane.
The afternoon was bright and hot, so they told me the air
would be "bumpy" if we went up before 4.30 p.m. That means
the heat waves would be rising and make us ride like a ship in a
storm.
So the French capitaine had telephoned his superiors, and
obtained permission. I was dressed for the air as for a polar
trip and my pilot was ready. He was a delightful little French-
man— named Rene Rodier — and an adjutant (i.e. sergeant),
as is the French practice, instead of a commissioned officer.
He took his seat in the small cockpit, up front near the bow
of the "bus," and I mine about 5 feet back of him. He explained
how to signal him if I saw any Boche planes, nodded ready, and
the poilu started to turn the long propeller blade. Soon the
motor started, the machine was turned in the right direction,
the motor speeded up with a tremendous roar and rush, and we
started over the ground very fast.
437
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
I looked back at my friends, and found them holding on to
their hats, with backs turned, in an awful cloud of dust from the
zephyr originated by our propeller. In 5 seconds they were
away in the distance and then we started up and left all cares
behind; said good-bye to prosaic Mother Earth. We flew
through the air: now low, just above cathedral spires, closely
clustered red-tiled roofs, over pastures, woods, and workers in
the fields, skimming the tops of fortified hills; now high, just
below the lofty cumulus clouds, with the earth on an apparently
flat, vari-colored floor beneath us. The many straight and curv-
ing white lines are roads, the patches of dark green are forests,
the little clusters of red and gray spots are villages, the extensive
straight-line patterns in shades of brown, red and yellow, are
cultivated fields, and the dark curving lines disappearing in the
haze of the distance, are rivers.
The roar of the motor is terrific, the blast of air it sends back
at a speed of 150 miles an hour, is tremendous, but very stimu-
lating. I lean over the side of the shining framework, and see
directly under us the zig-zag lines of the trenches. Yonder
lies Germany, and the enormous power of the Kaiser, now
struggling mightily in its death throes, a land in which every
material thing is now marvellously organized for the purposes
of war, death, and destruction.
I stand up in my little pit, only to be bent back by the force
of the wind. Then I raise the semicircular support of my Lewis
machine gun, and brace myself erect with head above the top
wings. It is glorious! The fresh air is forced into my throat
and nostrils; the quivering machine goes steadily along, seem-
ingly and almost actually as safe and sure as an automobile
or express train. It seems as though the leather casque would
be torn from my head by the air blast. Below are alternating
lights and shades of the cloud patterns on the earth, just above
are the brilliant sun and the dazzling white clouds themselves.
A short distance beneath and to one side, is my friend, wav-
ing to me from his plane; its wide stretch of taut surfaces
438
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
glistens in the sunlight, and the red, white and blue of France
and America, stands out on the top of each wing, painted in con-
centric circles. Oh, this flying is the king of sports, worth living
for, or dying for. What matters it if we are overtaken by sud-
den oblivion under such conditions? It is an ideal death com-
pared to being dismembered by a shell in a hole; even the
thought of it causes no fear.
Are any Boche planes in sight? I adjust my mitrailleuse
and practise sighting at various angles to be ready for emergen-
cies. The magazine holds 94 rifle-calibre cartridges, in series of
3, standard, tracer, and incendiary bullets. It can be fired from
almost any angle.
We are now circling down towards the dots which represent
my regimental echelon. The motor has been cut down and is
less noisy. The nose of the plane is pointing earthward, with
the wings tipping an angle of more than 45 degrees. To my
surprise it all seems normal and natural, this swooping down
from the skies. The machine is perfectly steady and the com-
motion is less. There are no strange phj^sical sensations about
it, any more than sitting in a chair on the veranda. Compara-
tively speaking, descending in an elevator is a mild adventure.
It takes an unexpected length of time to descend enough to
really reach the warm strata of air and make the acquaintance
of the landscape. Just 300 metres below is my battery picket
line, with 150 horses, and the roofs of the "Adrian" barracks.
The men are moving dots. We circle around the little 12th
century village, between the hills, and the little stream passing
by the small church tower, and start back for our hangar.
Flying at a low altitude is in many ways more interesting than
up above, though more dangerous if anything goes wrong. One
notices then the speed, which is not the case up in the clouds.
It is the difference between a river and the middle of the ocean.
The hills and irregularities of the ground become visible. The
little goings and comings on the earth below enter into our con-
sciousness, and become matters of interest.
439
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
There is our field. We circle around and dive down just
above the sheds, to attain a low altitude before straightening
out for our first contact with the ground. The difficulty and
danger of landing at once becomes apparent as we quietly glide
over the grass at 50 or 60 miles an hour. A little hillock or
bump would turn us over and destroy the machine.
A sudden slight jar, and in a moment we are on the wheels,
with tail dragging, and in a quarter of a mile have stopped. The
motor is then speeded up enough to roll us back to our hangar.
We climb out, covered with smiles, and a feeling of immense
satisfaction, and remove our warm heavy clothing.
It was perfect.
In a letter of July 7 his thoiightfulness and the seri-
ousness with which he faced the future were strikingly
revealed :
Recently I read an article in the May Atlantic Monthly on
"The New Death." Possibly I can appreciate some of the
things stated in it better than you can. But we do hope and
believe that the effort we are making here will be for the greater
good. There is much idealism on the part of the men over here
to which they have not the time or inclination or ability to give
utterance. There is also much matter-of-factness, disgust with
the whole business, or happy-go-lucky acceptance of what comes
along. It is true that the majority have only a slight conception
of what they are getting into, before they leave America. It is
appalling to think of what these nations have suffered during
the past four years. But after a while one gets acclimated to
most anything, if he is still alive. I consider that I have had
comparatively a very easy time of it thus far. Life never
seemed sweeter or better. I have a good chance to survive,
but if I don't my great wish is that I am not snuffed out in some
fool way by a shell back of the lines but rather while actively
engaged in some effort really worth while.
440
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
It was in the Aisne-Marne offensive, at the northern
edge of Belleau Wood, that Barton was killed in action,
July 19, 1918. He was sent forward, July 17, as liaison
officer with the infantry, to transmit to the artillery the
requests of the infantry, and to help in directing batteries
against the German machine guns and other targets — a
hazardous mission. The liaison runner who accompanied
him, Private John F. Walsh, an eye-witness of his death,
has thus described the scene:
It was about three or four p.m. We were lying in a shell hole,
which was about three or four feet deep, for protection. We
started forward to get the wounded and bring them back. After
a few trips we sought cover in another shell hole, because the
barrage was heavy; also, machine guns were sniping us.
When it quieted down a bit, I saw Lieutenant Barton start
forward again. He had gone about forty feet when I saw him
throw up his hands and fall forward. I went forward to see
what was the matter. On getting there I found he was dead —
killed instantly by a shell.
In General Orders from the Headquarters of the 26th
Division he was cited in the following terms:
For meritorious service. On July 18 and 19, 1918, during the
Aisne-Marne offensive, as liaison officer of the infantry, he
went forward with the attack of the infantry on Torcy. At the
time visibility was difficult, owing to the dense mist which
covered the ground. He fearlessly, under heavy machine gun
and shell fire of the enemy, went to the most forward portions of
the line, obtaining and transmitting to the artillery exact infor-
mation of great value. He continued to expose himself in the
performance of his duty until killed by enemy shell fire.
A strange sequel of Barton's death was that when his
brother and sister visited the scene of the Belleau Wood
441
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
fight in January, 1919, they found there a mud-stained
handkerchief marked with his name, and that still later
his helmet, inscribed with his name in his own handwrit-
ing, was picked up on the field.
A poem in Barton's memory by Eunice Tietjens, rounds
out the record of his life in the expression of a sorrow and
pride which soldiers such as he have left behind them:
This Much is Left Us —
The guns are silent noic, and all the dust
Of shattered flesh returned into the earth.
Friend sleeps with foe, nor any windy gust,
Nor summer rain can wake them to new birth.
You died, then, you and seven million more.
You died for home, or victory, or peace.
These things we have, and life's much as before.
Save for the silence where your voices cease,
Save for the human silences that come
When those who loved you suddenly are still
Remembering — or at twilight when the numb
Sore spot in the mind like an old wound aches chill.
Life runs the same. The outer shell of living
Which, when we lost you, covered emptiness.
Is deepening now, is taking form, and giving
Solidity to what was bodiless.
Oh, we have not forgotten ! We remember.
Yet we have lost the glory of your days.
Time circles still from spring to stark December
And we slip back into the trodden ways.
442
LESTER CLEMENT BARTON
Yes, we grow old. And our once naked hearts
That glowed like steel with agony and wrath,
Grow dusty with long days, and little arts
And gracious nothings deck the aftermath.
But you are free, who went in that white glow
And laid you down with tragedy for bride;
Life cannot touch you; you can never grow
Old and cold and dusty at our side.
For you are youth, who now have cheated time,
And you are courage flung against the sky —
One with all radiant things, that in their prime
Are frozen into beauty when they die.
And death, who had his will of you, can never
Still that high courage with a thousand wars.
And we who love you hold you now forever.
As wide and white and peaceful as the stars.
443
CARLETON BURR
Class of 1913
\_yARLETON Burr, known to his intimates as
"Chubby," was a son of Isaac Tucker Burr, of the Har-
vard Class of 1879, and AHce McChire (Peters) Burr. He
was born at Milton, Massachusetts, August 29, 1891.
After attending the Noble and Greenough School in
Boston, as a younger boy, he entered Milton Academy,
from which he graduated in 1909. Proceeding immedi-
ately to Harvard, where he became a member of the In-
444
CARLETON BURR
stitute of 1770, D. K. E., Polo, Kalumet, O.K., Hasty
Pudding, and A. D. Clubs, he graduated from college with
the Class of 1913.
During his college vacation in the summer of 1911, his
sister has written, he went to Newfoundland with the
Grenfell Association and, entering with the true spirit of
his leader into its work, made a trip with Dr. Grenfell up
the Labrador Coast, visiting the natives and bringing
them relief. Immediately after his graduation he travelled
through the West with his classmate, George v. L. Meyer,
Jr., out to the Pacific, and then on a hunting trip in the
mountains of Wyoming. For the year following his return
from this trip in October, 1913, he worked in the Boston
office of Kidder, Peabody and Company during the week,
as he expressed it in a Class Report, "and watched my
friends get married on Saturdays." The next autumn he
entered the employ of the Paul Revere Trust Company,
with which he remained until its consolidation with the
State Street Trust Company, in January, 1916. In Feb-
ruary, the better qualified for usefulness by the training of
a Plattsburg camp in the summer of 1915, he set sail for
France with his classmate, Oliver Wolcott, for work in
the American Ambulance Field Service. Immediately
attached to Section 2 on the Verdun front, he remained
there as a driver until June. Then he was transferred to
Section 9, and sent to the Vosges as its director. He con-
tinued in this service until his return to the United States
early in February, 1917. A few passages from the letters
he wrote to his family during this year at the front are
illuminating.
445
CARLETON BURR
Paris,
March 2, 1916.
Jack Brown, who has just returned from the front and is tak-
ing La Touraine home on Saturday, has very kindly consented
to be the bearer of this letter. It is a fortunate opportunity as,
under these circumstances, I shall be able to write very freely
and to enclose these photographs which, through the mail,
would probably never get by the French censor. You will find
on the back of each photograph a full explanation. Very un-
fortunately, the one I should have valued most did not come out.
It was a close view of the new ambulance marked "Francis
Hardon Burr." ^ This car was delivered from the factory about
four days ago (and not in forty-eight hours as Uncle AUston
expected), and was taken out to Section 3 (in the Vosges) by
Waldo Pierce, who played on the same team with "Hooks."
The "Doc" 2 returned from the front yesterday, where he has
been on one of his regular rounds. After lunch he interviewed
each one of us new men separately, and informed us where we
were going, with the special injunction that we should tell no
one. He is sending O. and me and one other man tomorrow to
Section 2, which is now operating just outside of Verdun, at
which point is now being waged probably one of the greatest
battles of the war. Of course, we are thrilled in spite of all the
hardships which we anticipate. The "Doc" tells us that this
section is being terribly hard-worked, that both men and cars
are continually breaking down, and it is for this reason that he
is sending three fresh drivers with three new cars to relieve the
others as soon as possible. Apparently the men are now living
in an old barn which affords practically no comforts. They
get very little sleep, and, as the roads are in frightful condition,
they are all plastered with mud. However, as O. and I desired
particularly to get into the thick of it, we are looking forward
^ Carleton Burr's cousin, of the Harvard Class of 1909, who died in
1910.
2 A.Piatt Andrew (Harvard, Ph.D., '00).
446
CARLETON BURR
eagerly to this life. The trip from here to Verdun will probably
take us three days and will be all the way through the famous
battlefield of the Marne. We shall travel in convoy with a
French conducteur on the first machine.
The "Doc" impressed upon us particularly that in our letters
home all we could mention was our health and the weather and
could give absolutely no description of our whereabouts. Ac-
cordingly, as both these topics are fairly bromidic, and as we
expect to be frightfully busy, you will probably get very little
news from me in the next few weeks unless, of course, I find
another special despatch bearer. Don't forget that I shall be
always most grateful for news from home! My address in the
future will be: S. S. U. 2; Convois Automobiles, par B. C. M.,
Paris.
S. S. U. stands for Service Sanitaire United States. They used
to have an A (for Americaine) instead of the U, but it was con-
stantly being confused for Anglais and they were accordingly
forced to change. Par B. C. M. means "Through the Bureau
Central Militaire." This address will reach me, no matter
where the Section may be moved. By the way, Section 2 is the
famous one of which Salisbury is the leader and which has been
glorified by Buswell in his book.
I have dined almost every night in Paris since my arrival
here with either Norman Prince or Victor Chapman (both of the
Flying Corps) or Rex Carey of the Embassy. The many incidents
which these three have related would fill a volume, and I am
afraid you will have to wait till I get home to hear many of them.
Victor Chapman, who served a year in the Foreign Legion and
was once wounded, was really the most interesting. . . .
It has been very striking to me, from the bits of gossip I have
picked up here and there, to learn how much the French dislike
the English. The former are convinced the latter are shirking
their duties on land, and have many stories to corroborate their
beliefs. Also, the unsupportable manners of the English officers
are very irritating to the French. There is no doubt that if the
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English made an offensive now, it would do much to relieve the
German pressure at Verdun. Of course, it may be said in behalf
of the English, that fighting on one's own territory and on foreign
soil are two different parts of speech; which fact, I think, is
frequently overlooked by the French.
O. and I were remarking only last night as to how callous to
present conditions we had both become in only one week. For
instance, when we landed in Bordeaux we almost fell over each
other trying to get a photograph of a man in one of the new steel
helmets. On the contrary, the other night we casually went
to sleep while some of the French 75's just outside the city were
firing at a supposed Zeppelin. The whistle of the shells sounded
to me more like a high-pitched tuning fork in vibration than
anything else I can describe.
Petit Monthairons,
March 13.
Since we left Paris we have been frightfully busy, but almost
every moment has been interesting. We had a most fascinating
trip from Paris here under the auspices of a very intelligent
French conduct eur by name of Wolf. Our way took us through
Meaux, Montmirail, St. Dizier, Bar-le-Duc, Souilly and finally
here. The first-named place marks the spot at which the Ger-
man advance to the east of Paris was checked. All the way we
travelled on beautiful roads lined on either side with lofty
poplars spaced at regular intervals. At each town we came to
we were held up by a sentry demanding our papers, and were
then allowed to pass through the picturesque little village
crowded to the breaking point with reserve troops and muni-
tions. It certainly made my blood thrill.
On reaching this point, late on the second night, I saw at a
glance what we were up against. Petit Monthairons consists
of an old chateau and its few retaining buildings. I guarantee
you will not be able to find it on any map, but it is just half-
way between Ancemont and Villers. The chateau itself is
used as the hospital. Our section, including as many more
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Frenchmen, is quartered (on straw mattresses and brancards)
in the upper part of the chateau barn. The lower portion of the
same building is utilized as a coffin factory. Meals are served
in an old and filthy farmhouse just outside the walls (about the
grounds). Very fortunately, however, there was no room in the
barn for any more when we arrived, so that, after spending one
almost sleepless night in our ambulances, O. W. and I and two
others discovered a little house in the back of the grounds, built
into the wall, and there we spread our straw mattresses. The
house, I may add, has not as much floor space as our playhouse,
but is much more massive in structure.
Of course we have enough thrills to keep us interested. The
Bodies have a nice little gun the other side of the river behind
a hill, which lets us know of its existence about thrice daily by
sending over shells at about three-minute intervals. These are
aimed evidently at Ancemont and Villers respectively, each of
which is a considerable traffic centre. Some of these messengers
come excitingly near us, however, and, in fact, one shell has
already removed about half the roof of a small building not over
a hundred feet from the chateau. It is perfectly wonderful how
quickly man adapts himself to new environments. When I first
got here, it actually annoyed me when anyone spoke to me, as
I wished to concentrate my whole attention on the unceasing
cannonading which is ever present in this locality; also, I
used to gape open-mouthed at the countless aeroplanes above,
or stand by the roadside, lost in admiration and wonderment
at the endless ravitaillement or convoys. Now, I am actually
beginning to feel that my life would be incomplete without all
these. I will frankly admit, however, that I do not believe I
shall ever feel perfectly at home with shells or, more especially,
with bombs from hostile aeroplanes. I am sure that on my
return you will notice a marked shrinkage of my neck, as the
result of pulling my head down into my collar several times
daily.
449
CARLETON BURR
March 22.
. . . This life is a fascinating one, as every day brings new
incidents into one's life. My only regret is that I cannot transfer
to you at home my many and varied impressions, but, as the
Frenchman says: "II ne faut pas etre difficile, cest la guerre!^'
This philosophy has actually become already a part of my exist-
ence, and I assure you that the constant rumble of artillery is
more musical to my ear than the sordid drone of the ticker.
April 1.
... I belong to a very exclusive little club here now, con-
sisting of the local coffin-maker, an infirmier in the hospital,
a man who sluices out the sinks, and myself. We four have had
several social evenings which consist chiefly in listening to the
coffin-maker sing. Such soirees are doing much to improve my
French. The reason I became a member of this select circle was
because I bought them ten litres of pinard (red wine) the last
time I was in Bar-le-Duc. One could buy his way through Hell
in this country with pinard or cigarettes.
At several different times lately I have seen Boche prisoners
trudging along the roads escorted by mounted gendarmes, and
every time I have been struck by the youthful appearance of
the men. Of course, both armies use their youngest men for
attacking purposes, but some of the Germans I have seen could
not have been over sixteen or seventeen. Some of them look
scared to death, but for the most part they are smiling and cheer-
ful and seem very happy at the thought of being through with
it all. I personally do not blame them a bit ! Unfortunately it
is forbidden to speak to them, otherwise I should have long since
attempted to exchange cigarettes with one in return for his
much coveted helmet.
My respect for the Ford as an automobile has augmented
enormously since I have been over here. As an ambulance,
also, it is far more practical than the heavy, cumbrous vehicles
of the French and British. Of course, it holds only three couches,
while the French and British hold double the number; but all
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CARLETON BURR
the blesses much prefer to ride in our cars, as they would rather
be rocked over the poor loads than bumped over them. The
number of my car is 148, and on its side it bears the name of
*'Amory Carhart." I have never heard of Amory, but if he
should overhear the invectives I hurl at his namesake sometimes
when she refuses to start on a frosty morning he might almost
feel ashamed of himself for his generosity. I don't know what
he 'd think of me !
Well, I must start old 148 in order to warm up my radiator
water for a shave. Such are the luxuries of life when one is in
the Army !
April 18.
... I believe I witnessed one of the most awful spectacles
the other day which any morbid character could ever hope to
see. Very near us here is a munition park where thousands of
pounds of high explosives, in one form or another, are stored.
Some soldiers were loading a camion (truck), and one of them
must have dropped a case of grenades. At any rate, a terrific
explosion ensued, blowing three camions into atoms and literally
spattering seven soldiers and four horses all over the adjacent
field. Some day, if you so desire, I will give you the minute
details of that scene as witnessed by my own eyes. All day
long I had a little tight knot in the pit of my stomach as the
result. I could not help thinking, also, how ghastly it would
have been if one of those mangled human forms had been some-
one I had cared for in life, or even someone I had known.
But, fortunately, the life of an ambulance driver is not a con-
tinual "campaign of f rightfulness." In other words, one is not
all the time up to his knees in blood. In fact we come much
more in personal contact with the live and active troops than
we do with the blesses. The grands blesses are loaded into our
cars by lazy, genial brancardiers, and for the most part don't
peep until we reach our destination. One might be carrying so
many barrels of apples for all the part played by any personal
equation in such a transaction. On the other hand, the petits
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CARLETON BURR
blessis are, for the most part, so delighted to have received a
bonne hlessnre, with the outlook of two or three weeks of
repos, that one cannot but rejoice with them. One certainly
can't blame them for such a point of view! Many extremely
interesting experiences are related to us by the blesses, and they
are always ready to talk, providing, of course, that they are not
too far gone.
June 2.
S. is correct, of course, in his statement that the ambulance
drivers become callous. I defy anyone to do the work we are
doing and not become callous ! After all, we at home maintain
a certain air of mystery about the dead, simply because we are
unaccustomed to seeing men die or even after they are dead.
For example, now it would not give me a qualm, if I were
wounded, to lie in an ambulance between two dead men, whereas
at the beginning, such an episode would have made the cold
chills run down my back. I think we all over here have much
more feeling for the badly wounded than we have for the dead.
Surely death is an easy relief for all suffering ! . . .
It was yesterday at high noon that some of us were lounging
about our cars in the sunny courtyard of one of the hospitals
situated near the railroad station. Some one, looking up, per-
ceived a squadron of Boche planes so high in air that they gave
the appearance of being pure white. It was not long before the
dreadful whirring of a bomb was heard and the resultant crash.
The first bomb was followed by others in quick succession. It
soon became evident that the railroad station was their objec-
tive, as the bombs were falling thickest in this location although
the damage done was by no means confined entirely to this
area. It was on the third shot, I believe, that I heard the
heart-rending cry of a wounded woman. Everyone who was
able jumped for some cellar, with the exception of our Ambu-
lance men and a few brancardiers. Of course, when we heard
the whine of falling bombs we would flatten ourselves on the
street and await the crash. I remember distinctly doing the
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CARLETON BURR
"dip" in a little 'place in which I was alone. I had not time
to get to my feet before another bomb would start falling. The
total damage was thirty-eight killed and one hundred and eight
w^ounded, and, with the exception of four or five, every one of
these casualties was taken to the nearest hospital by an Ameri-
can Ambulance man, either in his arms or in his car. One of
our cars was riddled with holes, and several of our men had
miraculous escapes. Oliver just escaped being badly hurt by a
flying brick. Another man was standing within fifteen feet of
the only bomb which did not go off, when it landed. In short,
all our men behaved themselves wonderfully, although after-
wards, when comparing notes, we each admitted having been
terrified. The hardest thing for me to bear was the sight of
wounded children. I carried in my arms at one time a little
girl of about three and a half years, with her little fat thigh
riddled with holes. Not a whimper did she utter, but just put
her little arms around my neck and hung on. I have heard
since that she died, although I am still not sure of it. A hun-
dred and one similar instances occurred which I shall relate to
you on my return. The net result for us, of course, was that we
completely won the favor of the inhabitants of the town, and
we have only to ride through the streets to hear the frequent
cries of ^'Vive les Americains!" It is quite a different attitude
from the w ay in which we were received.
Bordeaux,
July 9.
Here I am in Bordeaux again and many miles from the rattle
of musketry. "Doc" has put me in charge of a squad here,
with the simple little object of unpacking and preparing to ship
to Paris twenty-nine new Fords which have just been landed.
Although I have been here for three days now, this is literally
the first moment I have been able to call my own. You have
no idea what a colossal undertaking this is, as all the cars have
to be assembled on the dock, run through the town to a carpen-
ter who puts on temporary wooden bodies, and then thoroughly
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oiled and greased to be run over the road to Paris. I expect to
be here for at least a week more. ...
The week I spent in Paris was an extremely busy one, as I
had no sooner got there than "Doc" went off on one of his tours,
leaving me in charge of his office. The work, of course, was all
new, but I managed to "get away with it." Nevertheless I
found time to attend Victor Chapman's funeral services in the
American Church on the morning of the Fourth of July. Of
course his body was not there, as he fell in the German lines, but
a more simple and beautiful service I never attended. The
words, "O Death, where is thy sting, O grave, where is thy
victory? " never had a fuller meaning. A more perfect tribute,
also, than the short sermon delivered by the clergyman, no man
could have desired. It may have impressed me in particular,
owing to the fact that I had dined with Victor the night before
he was killed. . . .
It was soon after this that Burr accepted the appoint-
ment as director of Section 9 in the American Ambulance
Field Service. For the impression he had already made, a
letter of July, 1916, from Dr. A. Piatt Andrew to Burr's
mother, speaks in no uncertain tone: "I have come not
only to like him personally, which anyone would at first
glance, but, also, to have real esteem for his abilities, and
his qualities of mind and character. We have asked
Carleton to take the direction of a new section which we
are sending into the field, and I am sure he is fitted by his
tact and his unusual combination of gentleness, energy,
and force, to meet the very difficult task of handling a
group of volunteers."
The following letters were written from his new post.
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CARLETON BURR
August 18, 1916.
Here we are, as a section, in a beautiful little town in the
Vosges Mountains. Only this morning, also, your cable, stat-
ing "under circumstances approve Carleton's staying," reached
me by mail from Paris. The net result is that this morning I
feel perfectly at peace with the world. With a section of new
cars and an eager, willing bunch of men, the life as a section
leader for a while, at least, should not be a difficult one. Besides,
as an officer I have thus far been billeted in a private room with
all the comforts of home. It has its distinct advantages over
sleeping in one's ambulance or in a filthy barn, I assure you!
September 11.
We left the pare of this army in France, where we had re-
mained eight days, on August 25, and took up our position and
our accompanying duties in this town of Alsace on the same
day. A lovelier trip across the frontier pass and into this moun-
tainous country could not have been sought for anywhere,
especially in the clear, dewy light of that early morning. That
same afternoon, accompanied by the lieutenant of the French
section, whom we were replacing, as guide, our lieutenant and
I sallied forth to visit as many as possible of the posts we were
to serve. These are divided into six mountain and six valley
posts, at each of which we must maintain one car all the time.
To handle this work, therefore, we have divided the section into
three squads of six men each, maintaining at the same time a
reserve of two cars here at the base in case of break-down or as
a relief if any one of the posts should be over-worked. . . .
A good example of the Alsatian feelings towards Americans
was shown to me the other day in visiting Richard Hall's grave.
In the beautiful little military cemetery in which he is buried
I found his grave with its simple wooden cross, bearing his name
and the legend, " Mort pour la patrie." But also the touch of
some devoted caretaker was present, for on the grave itself were
growing some freshly-watered little flowering plants. Upon
questioning a doctor of the nearby hospital, I found that ever
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CARLETON BURR
since Section 3 had left in January, two girls of the only cafe in
town had voluntarily assumed the role of caretakers. Of course
I paid them a call, and found them just as nice as they were plain.
They seemed to consider it only natural, in view of the fact that
Hall, several times before his death, had taken his meals in their
establishment, and that, as he had left no immediate friends in
this neighborhood, they should do this little bit in his behalf.
This is a typical example of the sympathetic attention we en-
counter at every turn (not that we have selected our grave-
tenders as yet !) and which feeling, I am convinced, is mothered
only by intense suffering. The peoples of Europe should, there-
fore, gain something, if only morally, out of this miserable war.
A letter from the mother of Richard Hall, one of the
first American ambidanciers to be killed in the war, may
well be introduced in this place.
A BoRD DE La Touraine,
le 21 decembre 1916.
My dear Mr. Burr:
Perhaps your son has written you that Section 9 had a visit
from an American ambulance "Mother" when my son and I
were allowed to go to Alsace to see the places where our own
Section 3 worked last year and where my boy Dick gave his
life for the cause which we all feel is our own.
I had fully expected to go up to Boston for a day on my re-
turn, just to see the families of the boys who gave us such a
hearty welcome, but our boat is so late that I can barely reach
home in time for Christmas.
I want to tell you just a little of your fine handsome son. How
he is respected and beloved by all his men, although he has had
the difficult task of keeping them content and busy when there
is very little real action going on in the Vosges. It is, however,
a much busier place than any other except when big fighting is on,
and the life in the mountains has a charm all its own.
Nothing could have been pleasanter than the cordial hospital-
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ity shown us by Section 9, and I am so disappointed not to be
able to do just a little in return. The boys have shown every
respect to the memory of a fallen comrade, and I shall always
feel that Section 9, with Carleton Burr as leader, is very near
my heart. The boys all look well and strong and happy, and
it was a great pleasure to see them.
This is very little, but perhaps it will be a satisfaction to you
and your family to have a word from some one who has seen
your son so recently.
Very sincerely yours,
Elizabeth D. Hall.
For this first period of Burr's service abroad one more
letter, written on Christmas Day, 1916, will speak.
We are now momentarily settled in the town of V , in
which I spent many weeks while in Section 2. We are doing
evacuation work to the rear, and are waiting patiently to be
attached to a division and then sent up into the very front lines.
We are now in the position to need a little blood on the outside
of our ambulances to make the men appreciate the real meaning
of this work. Young men, full of spirit, have got to be in the
thick of it (at least, for a while) to make them believe that they
are really doing something.
This morning I went over to X , in Argonne, to attend the
funeral of an American driver named Lines ^ in Section 1, who
died day before yesterday of galloping pneumonia. With me,
from this section, were four of our drivers, among them George
Lyman, Jr. There was a large attendance of French officers,
all of Section 1, and representatives from Sections 2, 4, and
9. Also, Dr., Mrs., and Miss Lines, who live in Paris, ob-
tained permission to attend the funeral. Besides these were
"Doc" Andrew and Mr. Robert Bacon, who came up from
Paris for the occasion. The simple military service, held in a
^ For memoir of Howard Burchard Lines, see Vol. I (p. 183) of this
series.
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CARLETON BURR
barn for a chapel, served both for Lines and for an escaped Rus-
sian prisoner who had died at the same time. It was the latter
who obtained the majority of my sympathies as, having escaped
from a German prison camp, he successfully crossed "No Man's
Land," only to be mortally wounded by the fire of a French
sentinel, just on reaching his haven of refuge. Solitary, in a
strange land, he met death at the hand of a friend, after making
a brave and successful attempt to escape from his enemies. It
was certainly a pathetic case, and I could not help contrasting
his situation to that of Lines who, surrounded by friends and
admirers, was almost royally escorted to his last resting place.
Returning to the United States in February, 1917, Burr
entered the Boston office of Stone and Webster early in
the following month, and was there when Congress made
its declaration of war. But it was not possible for him
long to remain there. "He once remarked," his sister has
written, "that war is Hell because boredom is Hell, and
the slogan of the Marines, 'First to Fight,' attracted him
for that reason. He wanted to jump right into active
service, and he had a dread of being on the outskirts of
'the big game' without getting into it. The past record
of the Marines all over the world indicated that they
would plunge in and fight to the finish." It was therefore
in this arm of the national service that he sought his op-
portunity, and on July 6, 1917, with his Plattsburg and
ambulance experience in his favor, was commissioned
second lieutenant, U. S. Marine Corps. A period of special
training at Quantico, Virginia, followed, and in September
he sailed for France with the 6th Regiment of Marines,
2d Division, one of two hundred and fifty officers chosen
from over four thousand applicants.
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CARLETON BURR
To quote again from his sister's words: "After a note
had reached his family that he had sailed from Phila-
delphia and they thought him well on his way, the
telephone rang, and his voice was heard as though from
mid-ocean. He could not at this time disclose his where-
abouts, but it was later ascertained that his steamer had
gone from Philadelphia to New York, there to join her
convoy. Thus he had an opportunity to bid his family
farewell over the wire, and it was the last time they were
ever to hear his voice.
"After reaching France the 6th Marines were billeted
in a town where he was made mayor. General Catlin in
his book "With the Help of God and a Few Marines,"
remarks on his work as follows: 'Because of his initia-
tive and daring he was made intelligence officer of the
First Brigade and achieved some remarkable successes at
patrol work while we were in the trenches.'"
From the time of reaching France for the second time.
Burr was a devoted writer of letters to his family. Through
passages from these the reader will learn not only of his
work in the regiment, as assistant judge advocate, as bat-
talion intelligence officer, with night patrols on the front
line, of his sojourns in hospital — once to recover from the
effects of gassing — but also, by inference, much about his
spirit as a soldier and a man.
St. Nazaire,
October 21, 1917.
We arrived here in this uninteresting port on October 5, and
landed the following day. Much to our disgust we found that
the 5th Regiment of Marines (which preceded us by two or
three months) had been all split up into small groups and were
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being used as provost guards in London, Paris, Bordeaux, etc.,
etc. I fear that the same fate awaits us and the best to be hoped
for is that it will be only temporary. It is true, however, that
over half our officers have been sent to an ecole de feu, which
looks as if the Marines might get into the trenches some day at
least! During the major's absence (he being among those at
school), Captain x\ has been put in charge of the battalion
and has made me the battalion adjutant. As a result, I ride
around in a little motor-cycle side-car, and generally look
important.
This is a typical seaport town of about 17,000 inhabitants,
and is now literally infested with American soldiers of all ranks
and services. Generally speaking tne Americans have behaved
themselves pretty well, with a few disgraceful exceptions. One
law-abiding French civilian was knocked over the head and
killed by a drunken Massachusetts militiaman for refusing the
latter another drink. A few days later, however, one of our
sailors was found floating in the river, with his hands tied be-
hind his back. Since this misunderstanding, however, there has
been no bloodshed.
November 6.
We are a long way from the trenches at present, with very
little prospect of seeing them for considerable time to come. It
is, of course, possible that we (the Marine Corps) shall never see
them, as our relationship with the Army is none too cordial. On
the other hand. General Pershing, who made a minute inspection
of our camp the other day, did nothing but pay us compliments
all the time he was here. We certainly are in a peculiar situa-
tion, in explanation of which there is undoubtedly much to be
said on both sides.
Someone in the family has given my name and address to the
Mattapan Church. I have received notification that my name
is posted on the "Roll of Honor" in the front of the church.
They, in turn, have given my name to all sorts of Brotherhoods
who also have me on the "Roll of Honor." I cannot help being
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CARLETON BURR
tremendously amused at the holy character of a large percentage
of my mail, but, as long as they do not charge me membership
dues and, by their prayers, can keep me off the real "Roll of
Honor," I shall be perfectly satisfied.
St. Nazaire,
November 19.
Again I am availing myself of the "underground" to write
you a little more in detail of life as it is in St. Nazaire. To be
sure, there is a sameness about it all which would be appalling
if it were not for the indomitable cheerfulness of all Americans
concerned, which is due, I suppose, to the thought that if we
kick now, what shall we do when we are really in trouble. The
time is set for the Marines to be brigaded as the latter part of
December, but no one believes that this will be really possible
until at least the end of January. Then will follow a course of
two months' training before we are fit to take our place in line.
This means that the end of March or early April should find
us "up to our knees in blood." Many French officers with
whom I have spoken of late say that the German artillery is
showing visible signs of weakening both in range and accuracy.
It is for this reason that the Allies are able to use "tanks" now,
which would have been absolutely useless against German artil-
lery of two years ago. I know this statement sounds peculiar
when every day we are reading of fresh German advances in
Italy, but nevertheless I am sure there must be some truth in
it. There were no French officers making any such statements
in July when I left here, I assure you.
December 6.
On entering the local Y. M. C. A. for the first time today, I
was greeted by a large sign on the wall which read:
"Be the kind of man
Your mother thinks you are."
This, I am frank to say, aroused me to some serious contem-
plation, for, I suppose, it was intended as a stimulus to the
performance of great deeds on the part of the reader. On me,
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CARLETON BURR
however, this advice had a very soothing, almost narcotic effect,
for I argued to myself, "My mother knows all my faults, what
is the use of my trying to conceal any of them under any such
boast? She knows how I hate to write letters (especially when
I have nothing to say), therefore, why write any?" etc. Con-
trary to this train of thought, however, here I am once again,
pen in hand, attempting to convey to you my personal and
confidential ideas, and at the same time entirely conscious of
the fact that the censor is ready to swat me if I digress in any
way from the stipulated forms and regulations. It is like dis-
cussing your trade secrets when your biggest competitor is
sitting in the same room with you ! Much as I dislike the cen-
sor, however, I have a tremendous feeling of compassion for
him, as the censorship of the company mail is one of my tasks
every fifth day. If you knew how much alike and how terribly
uninteresting such a collection of mail could be, you would
wonder (as I often do) what is the use of the postal system,
anyhow? At very irregular intervals, however, I am reminded
of its value as a transmitter of joy and satisfaction, when a ship
comes in bringing some mail from home.
The General Court Martial, on which I am now serving,
although it entails considerable extra work, is really very in-
teresting, as every case, of course, presents its new aspects.
From my small and very limited experience as a judge advocate,
I realize the fact that to be an expert trial lawyer must be a
fascinating profession.
The friends whom I mentioned as having seen, in one of my
early letters, have long since left for fairer climes (or rather, for
further training in some more distant camp). At present there
are not even any acquaintances of mine in any of the neighbor-
ing camps, but as I find plenty of good company among my
fellow Marine officers, I am not at any loss for good companion-
ship. We have a piano installed in our quarters, and there is
right here all the music and merriment which is necessary for
the full enjoyment of life. I find more from day to day that
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CARLETON BURR
there is a certain ease (especially in reference to the future) con-
nected with this military life, which, if I ever return to civil life,
will be very difficult to shake off. The fact that no one ever
worries about the future, even in such times as these, is certainly
a strong recommendation for the life of the soldier. The great
disadvantage with the whole scheme is, of course, that you have
nothing whatever to do in the selection of your friends. One
immediate superior, who is a mucker and out of sympathy with
all you do (not that this is my case), may absolutely poison your
whole outlook on life. Also, if you find yourself on detached
duty with one other officer, whom you may not like, and with
whom you are accordingly forced into extreme intimacy, then
again you are "out of luck." As a whole, in this battalion we
have an unusually good crowd of oflScers and, so far, I have
not been confronted with either of these problems.
Never, in all my life, do I believe I have written so much and
said so little. I believe that, at this rate, on my return to the
United States, I shall be qualified to write editorials in daily
papers !
December 17.
Uncertainty as to our future plans continues as heretofore.
I have been notified, however, that when we go to the trenches
I am to be detached from the 75th Co. to become Battalion
Intelligence Officer. As far as I can make out, it is the duty of
this functionary to keep constantly posted (by fair means or
foul) as to what troops of the enemy are in the opposing trenches.
December 30.
Here I am once again a free lance, having spent ten miserable
days in the hospital under double quarantine with the measles!
By "double quarantine," I mean that I was confined to a small
room in an army hospital which was itself under quarantine on
account of the many contagious diseases which were being
cared for at the time within its somber walls. Luckily, letters
and boxes from the outside were not denied me so that with all
your generous gifts my Christmas was really a very happy one.
463
CARLETON BURR
January 21.
We are now only a few miles to the westward of where I spent
my first four months as head of Section 9, although I had never
actually been in this sector before. Our trip up here was con-
siderable of an ordeal for all concerned, as it took three days
and three nights and our accommodations were miserable. The
men were crowded in "side-door Pullmans" (cattle cars), while
the officers were not much better off in an antiquated railway
carriage. There were no facilities for washing and we had to
sleep sitting up, so that we were both filthy and tired upon our
arrival. We pulled in at 3 a.m., at which time I was detailed
to go in search of a hospital for one of our men who had been
seriously hurt. There was a heavy snow on the ground, and it
was raining, so that I managed to get soaking wet, in which
condition I remained all day. I had only just been released
from the hospital for measles a few days before. The net result
was that the following day I developed a severe cold and fever,
and only just escaped pneumonia. As life is difficult enough for
one in perfect health, my condition (which lasted about ten
days) did not give me a thrill. However, as there is nothing so
bad that it could not be a whole lot worse, and as I have com-
pletely recovered now, I have no complaints.
February 22.
Next week I go to school for a week to learn how to interpret
aeroplane photographs in connection with my work as Intelli-
gence Officer. My chief duty as I. O., however, will be leading
nightly patrols in "No Man's Land." I have had the pick of
the battalion in choosing my men, and, unless I am way off in
my judgment, I think I would have no fear in going anywhere
(humanly possible) with these men at my back. Playing "hide-
and-seek" with German patrols for such big stakes is going to
have its thrilling moments, I am sure.
March 9.
. . . Do you remember I told you once that I should
rather be a second lieutenant in the Marine Corps than a cap-
464
CARLETON BURR
tain in the National Army? The Marine Corps have been
used almost entirely for expeditionary duty in the past, and by
experience know what to take with them on such occasions. . . .
Now that the Marine Corps have decided on an increase, I
shall soon be a first lieutenant and possibly a captam.^ The
Army have adopted the merit system for their expeditionary
oflBcers, which system I hope will be incorporated in the Marine
Corps, as in times like these the best officers should be placed
at the head of the list regardless of the numbering.
April 22.
Did you ever see the letter written by a British "Tommy"
to his wife from a German prison camp, which ran something
as follows :
"German Prison Camp.
"Dear Wife:
"Everything is fine. I have a nice warm bed with plenty of
blankets in some fine dry barracks. Getting very good food and
plenty of it. The prison warden is a good-hearted fellow who
looks after all our needs.
"Love,
"Tommy.
"P.S. Mike Murphy was shot this morning for complaining."
My position is much the same, only in my case it would be
the censor who would do the shooting. I should, of course, like
to enclose maps with a graphic account of my first "hitch" in
the trenches, but, taking everything into consideration, believe
that Tommy's diplomacy is perhaps the wiser course. I will
not carry it to quite the same extreme, however, as everything
I shall now disclose will be the truth. To begin with, I am now
in a rest camp a few miles behind the lines for a few days until
the battalion again goes up to take over a new sector.
To return to the subject of the trenches, can you imagine
living for twenty days in the upper berth of a Pullman train
1 His commissions as first lieutenant, and shortly afterwards as cap-
tain, were sent later but did not reach him.
465
CARLETON BURR
which is dripping water from the roof and which is Hterally in-
fested with rats? Everything is smeared with a thick, sticky
mud, and there is no Ught except that given forth by a candle
(if you have one). Everything, however, you take as a joke.
There are two things which impress you particularly at first:
(1) the vast amount of work which has been done in the con-
struction of trenches and dug-outs (there are literally miles and
miles of trenches in one small area, in which you might lose
yourself for two or three hours) ; and (2) the great quantity of
enemy shells which can fall right in your midst without doing
any harm. Unfortunately, however, the latter is not always the
case, especially when the Huns send over two or three hundred
gas shells in one small area. . . .
By far my most interesting duty while in the front line was
leading patrols in No Man's Land at night. I think I can safely
say that I have been as near the Huns as one can get in France
without staying over there. One night we ran into a heavy
German patrol, and it did my heart good to see the way they
cleared out before we could close on them. We did cut some
of them off, however, and drove them down on to a French
machine gun position. . . . There is one thing positive, how-
ever, and that is, the enemy will never get me alone, for I have
the most wonderful crew of youngsters to follow me you can
imagine. They would never leave me dead or wounded to the
mercy of the Hun. This must sound terribly bloodthirsty to
you, but I have found out that you do not have to be super-
human or abnormal to lead this life. If you live like a rat you
must behave like a rat, and it is only human nature to do so.
In spite of all the hardships you never hear a word of complaint,
but instead everywhere you are greeted with a smile or some
bit of humor.
Ma7j 16.
The scarcity of my letters of late has been more or less in-
evitable owing to the fact that we have been on the move and
during such periods our regimental post office ceases to function.
466
CARLETON BURR
My part in every move has been a very interesting one, as in
my temporary capacity of Battalion Billeting Officer I have
always preceded the main body by one to three days. We have
been quartered in towns (and are at present) where there have
never been any of our countrymen before, and, needless to say,
the admiring yokels take a profound interest in our every move.
One old woman, for example, expressed profound astonishment
that I was not black; another asked me if our language was not
something like that of the Moroccans. Everywhere I was fol-
lowed by a procession of old men, old women, children, dogs and
geese. With all their curiosity and ignorance, however, they
have shown a sincere gratitude at our presence and have done
everything to make things easy for us. Never have I encount-
ered any objections in filling their barns to the limit with our
troops. Of course, they are paid five cents a day for every man
quartered; one franc a day is the rate for an officer's billet.
May 30.
We are at present quartered in a beautiful little town way
behind the lines where everything and everybody are at peace
with the world. This is not quite true, either, as there are
ten German prisoners employed on a nearby farm. My orderly
saw one of them walking down a side street alone the other
day, and thought he was escaping. Accordingly, my trusted
servant drew his revolver and started chasing this aforesaid
prisoner, creating panic in a mind where a few moments before
probably no thoughts of any kind existed. Luckily for Ger-
many, however, a French officer, wreathed in smiles, stepped in
just in time to save the Hun from having his head mashed by
the butt of a 45-calibre Colt. . . .
Please do not worry if you do not hear from me regularly. If
anything should ever happen to me, you would be notified very
soon through other channels anyway.
467
CARLETON BURR
Base Hospital No. 27,
Angers, France.
{Undated; received June 28, 1918.)
B 's cable stating that I was in Paris and my condition
was not serious must have given you a start, coming as it did
out of a clear sky. Our idea in sending it, however, was to let
you know before the casualty list was published that there was
really very little wrong with me. It was just hard luck that a
shell containing a little phosgene and arsenic had to burst right
along side of me and the slimy yellow vapor got into my lungs
before I had time to adjust my mask. The result was that I
became violently ill almost immediately, and the combination
of choking and convulsions was necessarily considerable strain
on my heart. Right now I feel almost normal except for an
irritating cough and a burning sensation in my stomach, espe-
cially after eating. In a week or ten days I expect to be back
again with my organization — that is, what is left of it.
Chateau des Hommeaux,
Le Lion d'Angers,
June 16.
From Paris, where I last wrote you, I was transferred to
Angers in a sumptuous American Red Cross train. I had not
been in the base hospital at Angers more than twenty-four
hours, however, before I was asked by the doctor in charge if
I wished to be "farmed out" in a French family, to which (as
you will remark by the letter-head) I replied in the affirmative.
In consequence, Lieutenant Shaler Ladd, U. S. Marines, and
I were conducted by M. Gaston Paris, our host, to his chateau
at about twenty-five kilometres from Angers. Every since we
have been living like princes, lolling about the chateau grounds,
and not being allowed by our generous hosts to turn a finger for
ourselves.
The Paris family consist of Mr. and Mrs. Paris only. He is
a man of sixty who does not appear over forty and who was for
many years French consul-general in New York, thereby speak-
ing almost perfect English. His wife has been an invalid for a
468
CARLETON BURR
great many years, and her health has not been improved by the
loss of her only son, a very promising French aviator, who was
killed at Verdun last September.
All Americans over here are convinced that this is the last
battle of the war, as the Huns are making such a terrific effort,
which they will be unable to maintain indefinitely. I wish you
could have seen the slaughter we performed among them in only
one small sector of the front. Of course we had to pay for it
ourselves, but when I left there were at least eight dead Germans
for every dead Marine. If all Americans fight in anything like
the same manner that the First and Second Divisions have
shown themselves capable of, I think undoubtedly that the
Americans will prove themselves the best troops in this war.
They have the physicjue of the English coupled with the reck-
lessness of the French, which is going to be pretty hard for the
Hun to stop.
Base Hospital No. 27,
Angers,
July 7.
The time is approaching very rapidly now that I shall be re-
turned to my organization. I assure you that over a month of
hospital life is not the king of indoor sports and the sooner I am
discharged, the happier I shall be. The only thing holding me
up now is a slight infection on my neck which has refused to
heal properly, due probably to my run-down condition after
being gassed. During the past few days, however, my condi-
tion has shown a marked improvement, and I think one of the
next two or three days will see me on my way. I doubt very
much if I shall return to my old duty as Intelligence Officer of
the First Battalion, but there is no doubt I shall be returned to
my regiment. There will be some gaps among both the officers
and men with whom I have served all these months which will
have been replaced by new faces, so that everything is bound to
appear a little strange whether I return to my old unit or not.
There is a very genial crowd in the officers' ward, and, as we
are allowed liberty to town almost every afternoon, life has
469
CARLETON BURR
really not been a hardship. The French certainly extended
themselves on the Fourth of July, which they celebrated as a
national holiday. There was a review of the Allied troops in
the morning, which was the chief event of the day. My great-
est amusement, however, was with a very pretty little French
boy (about four years old), dressed as Uncle Sam, who refused
to leave my side. Several of us from the hospital had a table
in a sidewalk cafe, and while Uncle Sam was not sitting in my
lap, he was standing in the centre of the table and taking off
his large hat with great solemnity to the passers-by. He was n't
very much taller than the beer glasses which surrounded him.
A week after writing this letter, Burr was able to take
part in the Paris parade of July 14. On the 18th, the day
on which the Foch offensive really began, he rejoined his
command. "The next day, July 19, 1918, at 9.30 a.m."
— to turn yet again to the words of his sister — "he was
killed in action. The attack started at 8.15 a.m., and they
had left Vierzy with Hartennes as the objective. They
were soon under the direct fire of German batteries that
were sweeping the wheat fields. A machine gun barrage
was also helping to thin out the ranks, as the fields they
crossed were devoid of trees, except for some clumps of
bushes lining a sunken road. A piece of shrapnel on
which Fate had inscribed his name pierced his side, and
his earthly career came to a swift and peaceful end. In
the land he loved next to his own he will always lie, con-
tent that he could give his all to a cause that was so near
to his heart. On that day the bells throughout America
were joyfully ringing to proclaim the turn of the German
tide."
470
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
Class of 1918
-LHiLiP CuNNiNGHAMwas bom in Gloucester, Massa-
chusetts, June 21, 1894, of an old New England family.
Of his immediate relatives, an uncle (Guy Cunningham,
'87), an older brother (Allan Rowe Cunningham, '09), and
two cousins were Harvard graduates. His parents were
William Tarr Cunningham, a banker, and Edith (Rowe)
Cunningham. His two grandfathers, each at the early age
of eighteen, commanded vessels sailing out of Gloucester,
and afterwards established themselves as owners of large
fleets of fishing schooners.
While a child, Cunningham had a severe attack of
pneumonia, with complications. As a result of this he
lived as much as possible in the open air, spending several
471
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
summers at Camp Kineo, Long Lake, Maine, and one
winter in South Carolina. Here he could gratify his love
of horses by riding. As a result of this outdoor life, and,
more than all, by the favorable character of his home life,
he improved his health so that when he answered the call
to war he had such vigor and endurance that he was en-
tirely fit for the arduous duties of a private soldier. His
studies preparatory for college were made at the public
schools of Gloucester, and, in the final year, at Volk-
mann's School in Boston.
At college he became a member of Phi Kappa Epsilon
and the Volkmann School Club, and interested himself
especially in history, government, and economics. His
course began in the autumn of 1914, was marked by his
service on the Mexican border, in the summer of 1916, as
an enthusiastic member of Battery A, 1st Massachusetts
Field Artillery, and was cut short, in his junior year, by
his leaving Cambridge shortly before the declaration of
war, to enlist in the aviation service. When defective eye-
sight prevented his acceptance by the government, he
went to Buffalo, New York, for instruction in the private
training camp of the Curtiss Company. From Buffalo he
proceeded to Newport News, Virginia, and had pursued
his course to the point of receiving credit for six hours in
the air with an instructor when he fell ill with typhoid
fever. On his recovery, his furlough having expired, he de-
cided, instead of taking up the aviation work still needed
for a pilot's license, to rejoin the battery with which he
had served on the border. As a private he attached him-
self again to this organization, which was federahzed July
25, 1917, and afterwards designated Battery A, 101st Field
472
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
Artillery, 26th Division. Cunningham joined it at Camp
Boxford, Massachusetts, where it was made ready to sail
for France on September 9. "His attitude toward the
European war," an intimate classmate has written, "was
always far from that of a neutral."
In a letter from the Adriatic, dated September 11, Cun-
ningham described the mode of life on shipboard, his own
"telegraph work" and "digging on special detail stuff,"
and cheered his family with the final words, "believe me
— I am having the time of my young life thus far." From
France he wrote, December 6, when the 26th Division was
receiving its final training: "Now I am in the special
detail of the Battery with my own horse and interesting
work. As I told you, I was at once put in the Wireless
School, where I have had almost nothing to do. Lately
they have taken me more and more for Batteries duties
with the detail; more interesting, more work. It looks
now as though I would have one of the best jobs in the
army for a private, so you need n't worry."
It was not long before the 26th began its active service
at the front. In "New England in France," Major Emer-
son Gifford Taylor's history of the division, it is stated
that "the first shot from troops of the National Guard
or National Army against the Germans was fired on
February 5, 1918, by Number One piece. Battery A, 101st
Field Artillery, at 3.45 p.m." About a month later, Cim-
ningham, after writing (March 2), "A letter is a Godsend,
American articles too, but a picture of a well-known face
or place always brings you people to me with astonishing
vividness," proceeded:
473
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
You probably know we have been at the front for some time.
It is nothing at all like my dreams. I had a vivid picture in
my mind of a dark, muddy, devastated country, four or five
streams of crowded traffic on every wretched road with autos
and motorcycles shrieking by, — the whole accompanied by a
dull (deafening) roar ahead. Streams of ambulances full of
groaning men and endless columns of fresh troops hurrying
forward.
Au lieu de cela I find no striking differences from the interior.
At times there is a distant booming of guns much like that on
the range, and we often see small bodies of troops or supply
trains coming or going but the total brings no impression of
danger or action. This is a quiet sector and I have spent most
of my time with the horses, back of the lines, but I am certain
that the feeling is almost the same in the gun pits. It may
change when a few of us get hit. Our own infantry is in front and
has made several raids for which it has been cited.
The discomforts of existence at the front and in the
"horse cars" used for the transportation of troops, figure
in later letters, together with assurances that all was going
well with Cunningham himself. "I hope to Heaven you
are through thinking me blue," he wrote April 10. "There
is one thing in the world to mar my good time, and that
is any fear I may have of not being worth so much worry."
In the same letter he says, "We had a direct wire to the
'front line trenches,' and I was for a while one of the three
operators on the front end. At another time I was in a
projector relay, at another working at the telephone
central in the shipper's oflBce."
In a letter of June 3 there is a picture of Cunningham's
work as a telephone operator which contributes to an
474
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
understanding of the general utility of the American
private :
The last few days I have been operating the switchboard for
the regimental headquarters. My shift was the heavy one
from three to ten p.m. I thought I had iron nerves, but the
first night I was some wreck.
In the first place it was practically my first experience at any
sort of switchboard (I have not had more than a few hours on
a quiet eight-drop board) . This was a twenty-drop board con-
necting all the offices and officers here to the outside world.
At first with a sixteen-drop board I had only two possible
routes to the most important place. In one room were the
telephones of my old border sergeant now captain, the regi-
mental telephone officer, and the colonel. One mistake is the
end of any man for the latter. The instant penalty is "You are
relieved from duty, — ■ you will report to ." Imagine me
calling the general for the colonel through about eight leaky
lines with outsiders coming in on the wires all down the line
while at the same time trying to do similar work for an average
waiting list of half a dozen, all officers and all insistent. We
cannot finish one and then take another. Say I get a call for
"a." I call central 1 and ask for 2. Meanwhile another drop
(call) falls. I connect him with my line to 1 and find he wants
"b." Good. Then, or during the conversation, 2 answers and
I call for central 3 meanwhile trying desperately to keep 1 from
cutting the connection and, after connecting my line to you,
ring 1-2 line, asking 4 for 5 through which I hope to get "b"
etc., etc. It is simply an endless collection of everyone who
calls on your one home line and keeping the conversations sorted.
Imagine the general finally answering the phone only to hear
my plaintive voice asking, "Is this the mess sergeant?" Also
it is of course a very bad break to allow an officer to hold the
line when his junior is calling, even if the junior has hung up —
either tired of waiting or not of the waiting kind. Of course
there are cases where I can get away with a thing like that.
475
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
Do you wonder I was some dazed to get all this in one short
evening? Everything is in code and the operator must know
every possible method of reaching anywhere.
After a day or two it gets much easier and it is always a good
job. I was only put on to fill up a shortage and return to
escalon tomorrow. I wish I could keep the job as operator.
Neither in these letters nor elsewhere does the individual
part of Cunningham in the engagements of the Chemin
des Dames and La Reine sectors reveal itself. Less than
two weeks before his death at Chateau-Thierry he wrote,
after describing a hard march, "How much farther we
go, if any, I do not know. We are at the front, but ap-
parently a reserve regiment. I shall know better later.
Of course I am still in escalon, miles behind with those —
prisoners. We ought to be relieved soon. It sure seemed
good to be oflficially told of all the troops we have on the
way over here. I should call it one large bump for the
Kaiser."
Battery A had not long to wait for relief from its posi-
tion in reserve. At the beginning of the Chateau-Thierry
drive it was pushed forward to Lucy-le-Bocage, close
behind the famous Bois Belleau. Another battery had
been firing during the night of July 18-19, and the Ger-
mans retaliated with a heavv concentration. At about
7.30 in the morning of the 19th, Battery A had ceased
firing for a time, and the men were about to go to break-
fast when a shower of shells fell in and about the bat-
tery's position. Several men were wounded, and Philip
Cunningham and one other were instantly killed. He
was buried in an American armv cemeterv close to the
Marne at Bezu-le-Guery near La Ferte-sous-Jouarre.
476
PHILIP CUNNINGHAM
"Those of us who knew Cunningham," writes the class-
mate, Samuel B. Webber, already quoted, "have never
ceased to mourn his loss. A man of striking individuality
and vigorous personality, devoted to his friends, endowed
with a dogged tenacity of purpose in all he did, fearless —
he died as he would have wished to die."
In his native Gloucester the "Old Training Green" on
Washington Street has been renamed, in his honor,
"Philip Cunningham Square."
477
CLIFFORD BARKER GRAYSON
Law School, 1916-17
JjOTH the grandfathers of Clifford Barker Grayson, born
at Chattanooga, Tennessee, May 4, 1894, were captains
in the Confederate Army. He was the son of David Lauck
Grayson, a lawyer of Chattanooga, and May (Glascock)
Grayson. He prepared for college at the McCallie School
in his native city, and, entering Cornell University in 1912,
graduated there with the class of 1916. At Cornell he was
a member of the Sigma Phi Sigma fraternity and of the
executive committee of the Inter-fraternity Association.
He joined also the Cornell University Christian Associa-
tion and Cosmopolitan Club, and was president of the
Southerners' Club and International Polity Club.
In pursuance of his purpose to enter his father's profes-
478
CLIFFORD BARKER GRAYSON
sion, he came to the Harvard Law School in the autumn
of 1916. Here his first year of study was unfinished
when the United States went to war, and in May, 1917,
Grayson entered the Officers' Training Camp at Fort
Oglethorpe, Georgia. On August 15 he was commissioned
first lieutenant, infantry, and early in Sep 
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